Shade Dreams
by Opifex the Singer
Summary: Sequel to Dragon's Blood  do not read it unless you've read the prequels! Galbatorix and Skade have left Alagaesia with their son, but what awaits them over the sea?
1. Over the Hills and Far Away

**Chapter One**

**Over the Hills and Far Away**

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, but the sunset it made was pale and watery, as if it were shining through a cloud of smoke. The light was enough to make the trees cast long shadows over the snow. It looked like the bars of a cage.

It was getting cold now, too. He didn't like it here. He wanted to be back at the camp, by a warm fire. But he didn't know where it was any more. He was lost.

He sped up, pulling his robe more firmly over his shoulders. The thick fabric helped him keep warm, but not much. It was white. If he fell over in the snow, he would be nearly invisible. No-one would ever find him. He would lie there forever, lost and frozen.

His heart beat faster and he began to search among the trees, pawing at the thickets of dead fern that grew among them. Nothing. No sign of anyone anywhere.

'Father? Father, where are you?'

Silence, broken only by the distant screech of an ice-eagle.

'Father! Please, I'm scared, I want to go back now!'

But there was no reply, and no-one came to answer his call. Fighting back tears of fright now, he broke into a run. The snow was slippery, and his boots sank deeply into it with every step, threatening to trip him up. He did fall once, but landed in a snow-drift. He got up, his robe now wet, and ran on.

The sun sank lower, and darkness began to close in. Night was coming now.

'_Father!'_

He stopped to rest by a tree, gasping for breath. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach, and his knees were bruised.

Calm down, he told himself quietly. Breathe deeply. Think!

He looked around. Their camp had been on a higher piece of ground, where it was a little drier. So if he went uphill, he might find it. Yes. He started to feel calmer. Go uphill.

He started to go back the way he had come, watching the landscape. It did rise gently to his left, so he turned that way and followed it until it became a true slope. Yes, this was the way, he was sure of it.

But… but in spite of that, doubt kept edging back into his mind. The trees all looked the same, and the snow made everything featureless. He thought he could see his footprints, but what if a deer had done it? He didn't know anything much about tracking.

He started to feel frightened again. What if he was going in the wrong direction, and heading away from camp rather than toward it? Should he just stay where he was until someone came to find him? There could be wolves out here. He'd been warned about that. Wolves wouldn't normally attack a person unless they were wounded, but there was a small cut on his hand. Would that be enough?

He stopped again, looking around. Maybe he should climb a tree. He might be able to see something from up there.

He found one that had a branch low enough to reach, and hauled himself into it without much trouble. He'd always been good at climbing. His father had told him that he was stronger than ordinary people. He didn't know if that was true, but he supposed it was.

The tree's bark was wet and slippery, but he dug his nails into it and gripped it easily enough. Once he was as high as he could get, he stood in a fork and surveyed the landscape. But there was nothing but trees in any direction, as far as he could see. He looked up at the sky, but there was nothing up there. Only birds.

'Gods damn it,' he mumbled. It didn't make him feel any better.

He slid back down the tree, full of worry. If night came before he could get back…

He started to fume internally. This was all his father's fault.

'Father!' he yelled. 'It's not funny! Stop it!'

Silence. But then, as he stood there and scowled at the snow, he thought he heard something behind him. He turned. There was nothing there.

'Father?'

More silence. And then a voice whispered from somewhere to his left. 'I am the shadow that comes in the night…'

He whirled around. 'Father?'

Now the voice was to his right. 'I am the fear that lurks in your heart…'

'Father!'

He turned this way and that, searching for the owner of the voice, but all he could see were shadows.

'…I am the rider on the wings of the storm…' Now it was behind him.

'Father, stop it!'

The voice went quiet. He stared fixedly at the spot where it had last come from. There was nothing there but a tree, and he took a few steps toward it, staring fixedly at the shadow it had flung over the snow. But he couldn't see anything. He stepped into the shadow, loath to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Nothing. The shadow was just a shadow.

The back of his neck prickled. He turned sharply.

Nothing. Still nothing.

'Father! Please, I'm getting cold.'

More silence, and then the voice said; 'All right.'

It was coming from a spot by another tree. And, as he stood and watched it, a shadow slid out onto the snow and took on the shape of a man. The man straightened up, laughing.

He ran at him. 'Father!'

He hit him and bowled him over, and the man fell, still laughing. He thumped him in the chest as hard as he could. 'Stop it! It's not funny!'

The man managed to fend him off and sat up, grinning. 'It's all right, Skandar, calm down…'

Skandar pulled away, scowling. 'Well it's not funny. I was scared.'

The man got up, brushing the snow off himself. He was tall and thin and had a pale face. His hair was long and curly, jet black with a little grey in it, and he had a pointed black beard. One eye was glittering black. The other was closed. 'Well,' he said, 'You know what I told you about fear, don't you?'

'Yes, but I don't care,' said Skandar. 'You shouldn't have teased me like that.'

'It was all right, you know,' the man said more kindly. 'I was following you the whole time. You weren't in any danger.'

'Well I don't care,' said Skandar.

'I suppose that's only sensible,' the man admitted. 'Well, come on. We'd better get back to camp before dark or your mother will have my head.'

'It's uphill,' said Skandar. 'I figured that out.'

The man grinned again. 'So it is. Well done.'

They walked off through the wood, side by side. Skandar watched his father, and saw how he was limping a little more badly than usual. His leg must be hurting him in the cold. He forgot his sulk and took him by the hand.

His father looked a little surprised at that. He usually looked surprised when someone touched him, though Skandar didn't know why. But he didn't let go either.

'How do you disappear like that?' said Skandar.

'I told you; magic. Special magic. You'll get the hang of it one day.'

'No I won't,' said Skandar. 'I've tried. I can't do it. I don't have any magic.'

His father laughed. 'Don't have any magic! Yes you do. You know perfectly well you do. I saw you do it.'

'Yes, but that was just an accident,' said Skandar. 'I can't do it any more.'

'Well, you'll remember how to do it eventually. You're a special boy, Skandar. I couldn't do what you did. No-one can, except for you.'

'I can't do it either,' said Skandar, shame-faced.

'Yes you can. Not everything comes to us by instinct, Skandar. We have to learn them. I wasn't born knowing how to hide in shadows, you know. I had to learn it. And then I had to practise it.'

'I don't _want_ to practise,' said Skandar.

'None of us ever do. But if we just had everything we wanted as soon as we wanted it, it wouldn't be worth anything.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' said Skandar.

'Even so.'

Skandar's fear had gone now. He held onto his father's hand, and felt big and strong, and happy. Suddenly, he wanted to laugh. 'I'll try again, Father,' he said. 'I can do it.'

His father glanced down at him, and smiled. 'I know you will, Skandar. You did well today, you know. You started to panic, but you didn't lose your head. You acted sensibly, and you were doing the right thing in going uphill. If you'd just kept your confidence, you wouldn't have needed any help from me.'

Skandar felt warm pride glowing in his chest. 'I knew I had to go uphill. I remembered what you told me.'

'And you have a _very_ good memory.'

They walked on in silence for a time.

'Father?'

'Yes, Skandar?'

'I'm a prince, aren't I?'

His father thought about it for a while. 'I suppose you are, in a way.'

'But I _am_,' Skandar persisted. 'You're a King and Mother is a Queen, so that makes me a Prince.'

'I'm not a King any more,' his father said gently. 'I stopped being one quite a while ago.'

'But you were a King when I was born,' said Skandar. 'Weren't you? That's what your _name_ means. You told me so.'

'Yes, yes, I suppose so. Does it really matter?'

'Well… does that mean I'll be King some day?' said Skandar.

'No, Skandar. I already told you that. And even if I still had a throne for you to inherit… I'm glad that you never will.'

'Why?' said Skandar.

'Because being a King is not a good thing,' his father answered. 'Believe me, Skandar. If you were King you would hate it as much as I did.'

'Well if you hated being King, why didn't you stop doing it?' said Skandar.

His father shook his head. 'I don't feel like explaining right now. Anyway…' he looked ahead. 'I think we're there now.'

They shoved their way through some bracken and emerged into a clearing. There was a strange black fire burning at its centre – burning over the snow, without any fuel. A huge white dragon was there, too, her body curled around the clearing and very nearly encircling it. She was sound asleep. The two of them walked quietly past the end of her snout and entered the camp, where Skandar's mother was already getting up from her seat by the fire and coming to meet them. 'There you are!'

Skandar let go of his father's hand and went to meet her, and she embraced him tightly and kissed him on the forehead. 'You're soaking wet,' she said as she let him go. 'Did you fall over?'

'Yes. But I'm all right.'

She pushed him toward the fire. 'Dry yourself off, then. Go on.'

His father stood by, watching. 'What, no kiss for me?'

She went to him. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii, where have you been?'

'No need to be like that about it,' he said mildly. 'I've been teaching Skandar how to find his way around in the wilderness.'

'He took me far away from camp and then disappeared,' Skandar said loudly from his spot by the fire. 'I was looking for him for _hours.'_

His mother looked irritated. 'What did you do that for?'

'He has to learn, Skade,' said Galbatorix. 'Don't worry; I was keeping a close eye on him.'

She shook her head. 'I'm sure you were. Come on, sit down and warm yourself up. I've got some food ready for you.'

Galbatorix sat down beside his son, and warmed his hands over the fire. 'Ahh, that's better. So, what have we got in the way of food?'

Skade passed him some bread and dried meat, and an apple, and he ate heartily. Skandar got the same. The food tasted good after so much exercise and excitement.

'So,' said Skade, once the two of them had taken the edge off their hunger. 'Where are we going next, Sire?'

Galbatorix rolled his eyes. 'That's not even a little bit funny, Skade.'

'So where are we going?' said Skade. 'It doesn't look like there's anything but snow out here.'

'Yes, you're quite correct about that,' said Galbatorix. 'If you want snow and pine trees and mountains, the Northlands are the place to find them.'

'But where are we going from there?' said Skade. She was an elf, with silver hair and a silvery sheen to her skin. Her eyes were gold, with slitted pupils, and she had sharp teeth.

'Further North,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'Until we reach the sea. And from there, we go beyond.'

'Over the sea?'

'Yes. I thought I'd made that clear already.'

'But why?' said Skade. 'We don't even know if there's anything on the other side.'

'But there has to be,' said Galbatorix.

'Why?' said Skade.

'Because there just has to,' Galbatorix said stubbornly. 'Because I'm not going back.'

'I still don't understand why we couldn't have stayed,' said Skade. 'There's no danger for us in Alagaësia any more, not now that my father-,'

'There is,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'Skade, there is. And there always will be.'

'I want to see your castle,' Skandar piped up. 'I want to see your Empire, too.'

'Skandar-!' Galbatorix turned sharply, his voice suddenly rising. 'You can't,' he said, forcing himself to calm down. 'We're not going back. No matter what happens.'

Skandar had shrunk back a little. 'But why?' he said.

'Because I say so.'

'Galbatorix,' Skade said sternly. 'Stop that. You're acting like a child.'

Galbatorix put his hand over his eyes. 'Godsdammit, Skade, please don't be like that. It's hard enough as it is, with Skandar always asking questions-,'

'Well why don't you answer them? In fact, you could answer some of mine while you're doing that,' said Skade.

'_Skade-,'_

Skade moved closer to him, touching him gently on the shoulder. 'Galbatorix, you were a King,' she said softly. 'You ruled this country for more than a hundred years. It's thanks to you that its people are still free. You brought the riders back. There's nothing left that you need to be forgiven for. You could have stayed there. They needed you to help them; there were so many things that were lost in the war, and only you remembered them. You could have taught them. We had a home there, and my father would have kept us safe. You're not leaving the country, you're fleeing from it.'

Galbatorix looked at her, and slowly opened his other eye. It was not black, like the other one. It was the colour of blood. 'I couldn't stay there, Skade,' he said. 'Please, you have to understand that.'

Skade shivered and took her hand away from his shoulder. 'Galbatorix-,'

He looked toward the fire. 'There's too many memories for me there now. Things I would rather forget.'

Skandar listened to them in silence. He did not understand what he was hearing, but it made his heart beat fast, as if he were listening to something secret and forbidden. He wanted to ask questions, but something in his father's voice stopped him and he looked away. He could see the red eye gleaming in the firelight, and it scared him into silence.

Skade must have sensed that she had pushed Galbatorix too far. 'It's all right,' she said at last. 'I understand. And maybe you're right. Maybe there is a better place over the sea.'

'Yes…' Galbatorix closed the eye again, and looked up at the darkening sky. 'I hope so,' he said softly. 'I hope so.'

Galbatorix was up early the next day. His bad leg was aching in the cold, and he rubbed it gingerly, huddled against Laela's warm flank. Skade and Skandar were curled up beside him, both still asleep. He could just see them in the grey light among the trees, and he could hear their peaceful breathing.

Galbatorix sighed and settled down to watch the sunrise, keeping still to avoid disturbing them. Every so often he glanced over at them, as if he were afraid that they might suddenly be snatched away from him. But they were always there. Skade looked very vulnerable in her sleep, as the light touched her face. If he hadn't known her waking self, and how ferocious she really was, he could easily have thought of her as fragile. But she was stronger than she looked, and resilient as well. He smiled to himself when he thought of how terrible she could be when she was angry.

Skandar lay close to his mother, the top of his head touching her chin. Even though he was only ten, he was just as fierce as his mother was, in his own way. He certainly had something of her temper. Galbatorix, watching him, felt an almost painful sense of pride at the sight of him. So like Skade, and so like himself. Both their qualities together, embodied in their son. Skade was always remarking on how much he looked like his father, and Galbatorix supposed that was true. Skandar had the same pale, angular face as he did, and that likeness would no doubt become more pronounced when he entered maturity. And he had his father's black eyes and long, delicate fingers, and his hair too was curly. But it was silver like his mother's – a colour no human's hair could ever have. And he had her pointed ears, and the same sharp teeth – though they were not quite as pronounced. And, like her, his fingers were equipped with curved black claws. They weren't ridiculously long or obvious, but they were a long way from being fingernails.

Galbatorix sighed and touched the hilt of the sword that lay beside him. He had no idea what would await them over the sea – if indeed there was anything there – but if there was danger then he would place himself between it and his family regardless of the consequences.

'_Did you sleep at all last night?'_

Galbatorix looked up, startled out of his reverie. It was Laela. The white dragon had raised her head and was looking at him, her silver eyes gleaming in the gloom. He relaxed. _'Good morning, Laela.'_

She yawned. _'It hardly qualifies.'_

Galbatorix looked through the trees toward the horizon. _'Well, it's a nice sunrise, anyway.'_

She gave it a jaded look. _'Stuff and nonsense. I've seen better colours in a pool of vomit.'_

'_What are _you_ in such a mood about, then?'_

'_My leg hurts,'_ she growled.

'_Ah.'_ Galbatorix looked guilty. _'That would be my leg, actually. Sorry.'_

Laela snorted. _'Not your fault. Don't you dare block me out of your mind again or I'll burn your head off.'_

'_What, you enjoy feeling my leg ache all damn night?'_

'_You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Galbatorix.'_

He sighed. _'I'm sorry. It's not your fault. It's… well it's not important.'_

Laela moved her head closer to him, watching him with concern. _'Yes it is. Galbatorix, I don't like this. Something's not right with you. I can feel it.'_

'_I'm just worried.'_

'_No you're not. I mean…'_ she paused. _'Well, yes, you are worried. But I can't understand _why._ You won't stop doing this to yourself.'_

'_I'm not doing anything, Laela. I'm just… watching out for Skade and Skandar. And you.'_

'_I think they can look after themselves. Anyway, I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you.'_

'_There's nothing wrong with me.'_

'_Yes there is. And you can bloody well stop trying to lie to me, O Great Deceiver. You're barely sleeping. You won't calm down. And you're hurting me.'_

'_Laela, I can't help it if my leg-,'_

'_It's not your leg that's hurting me,'_ said Laela. _'You're not letting me in. You barely even let me talk to you, and you keep hiding your feelings from me. You won't embrace the connection like you should, you're not _sharing_ yourself any more.' _She sent him a feeling of gentle reproach and hurt. _'Galbatorix, what's wrong with you? I'm your dragon. I came back from… you know what we went through together and how much it took for us to be reunited. Can't you trust me any more?'_

'_Oh, Laela…'_ Galbatorix reached out to touch her forehead, embracing her awkwardly. _'I don't mean to. You know I wouldn't do that to you deliberately. Of course I trust you. It's just that…'_

'_It's just that _what?'Laela said sharply. _'Stop playing around with me and just say what you're thinking.'_

Galbatorix sat back. _'Laela, you can't expect me to be who I was before. That was a hundred years ago. A hundred years, Laela. You can't just ask me to forget them all because you want your old rider back, it doesn't work that way. I can't control it any more than you can.'_

'_Is that what's troubling you, then?'_ Laela raised her head, suddenly radiating confusion and dismay. _'You think you're not _worthy_ to be honest?'_

'_A hundred years of telling lies and hiding behind a mask takes its toll, Laela. The last time I was completely honest with someone was when I stabbed the Brat through the stomach with his own sword and told him he'd had it coming.'_

'_Galbatorix, please don't.'_

'_I'm sorry. I'm just not…'_ he looked toward the sunrise. _'I miss Shruikan, you know. He wasn't an easy dragon to know… we argued a lot. In the beginning we were fighting each other. He was always wild at heart, you see. But you should have seen us when we were in harmony. When we fought side-by-side… we were unstoppable.'_ Galbatorix sighed and narrowed his eyes. _'People are idiots. They talk about dragons – bonded dragons – as if they were nothing but giant talking steeds. Shruikan was never just Shruikan, he was always "the King's dragon". Without him I would never have won the war. He taught me how to be a warrior. But more than that. He taught me how to be a rider again.'_

Laela growled softly. _'You must have cared for him very much.'_

'_I did. In all those long years, he was the only one who stayed with me. When I wanted to die, he was what held me back. I knew I owed it to him to stay alive'_

'_I'm glad you did,'_ said Laela.

He grinned. _'I'll bet.'_

They were silent for a time, and then Laela started to prod gently at his mind, trying to deepen their connection so that they could immerse themselves in each others' thoughts, memories and feelings. For a brief moment he did not resist, but then he abruptly withdrew and shut her out, concealing those deeper feelings that he had refused to share with her. Laela pulled away, stung, and her mind radiated anger into his. _'Galbatorix!'_

He looked back at her, stone-faced. _'No, Laela. Not yet.'_

'_But why? For gods' sakes, why?'_

'_I… just not now, all right? Wait a while.'_

Laela left his mind, snarling her resentment, and the two of them sat in sullen silence. But later on, when she calmed down and tried to think, she began to realise just what it was she had glimpsed in him before he had shut her out. It had only been a brief glimpse – the merest hint of something, but she knew or suspected what it had been: fear.


	2. Beyond the Icelands

**Chapter Two**

**Beyond the Icelands**

Skandar was eager to resume their journey once the sun was well up and they had eaten. He stood by impatiently while Galbatorix put Laela's saddle on, and was scrambling onto her back as soon as the last strap had been done up. Galbatorix settled down behind him and helped Skade after him with their bags. As soon as they were secure, Laela took to the air.

They flew for most of that day, stopping a few times to eat and stretch their legs, but never for long. Talking in the air was almost impossible, and the four of them spent most of the journey in silence. Instead, they dozed or watched the landscape move below them. It was changing; they all saw that. Laela could cover great distances without too much effort, and they went further that day than they could have managed in a week on foot. They passed over vast pine forests and mountain ranges, and endless snowfields. The air slowly grew colder and colder, and Skandar huddled against Galbatorix's chest for warmth. They were still flying when the sun began to go down again, but Laela showed no sign of faltering.

Skade was starting to shiver in the icy wind. She reached out to Galbatorix's mind. _'We should go down now,'_ she said. _'It's getting too cold. I'm worried about Skandar.'_

He gave a mental nod. _'Yes, you're right. Wait a moment – I'll talk to Laela.'_

Laela, however, talked to him first. She had been refusing to speak to him for most of the day, and the emotion that came over their barely-maintained link was mostly resentment. But now she talked to him readily enough. _'Galbatorix,' _she said, _'I can see something.'_

'_What is it?'_

She sent him a picture of the landscape far ahead of them, too far away for his own eyes to pick up. He examined it, but couldn't discern anything. The horizon was absolutely straight and flat where it met the darkening sky, and beyond that he saw nothing. _'Well? What's so special about it?'_

'_I think we're close to the sea now,'_ said Laela. _'Can't you tell? Look at the horizon. No mountains, no hills – nothing.'_

Galbatorix thought about it. _'I suppose you could be right.'_

'_I'm sure of it,'_ said Laela. _'That's why I haven't landed yet. I think we can reach it by nightfall.'_

In spite of himself, Galbatorix began to feel excited. _'All right, then. I trust you.'_

Laela sped up slightly. _'Thankyou.'_ But in spite of her acid tone there was a hint of gratitude there as well.

'_Well?'_ said Skade. _'What did she say?'_

Skandar was shivering. Galbatorix let go of the saddle and held him close to warm him up. _'She said she thinks she can see the sea up ahead, and that we could reach it by nightfall.'_

'_Is that really so important?'_

'_Well, it's a goal, isn't it? Don't worry; we'll land as soon as the stars start coming out.'_

'_How's Skandar?'_

'_He's fine.'_

Galbatorix shut off mental contact. 'How are you feeling?' he called to Skandar.

'Cold!' the boy yelled back.

'Well it's all right, we'll land before it gets too cold and I'll light a fire. Laela says we're nearly at the sea by now!'

Skandar stopped shivering. 'Will we get there today?'

'I hope so!'

They did. The sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving nothing but a faint glow, and the stars began to come out one by one. Laela did not land then, regardless of what Galbatorix had said. She flew on, ignoring the protests of her three passengers. For a brief time they were flying in total darkness, and then the white dragon abruptly began to descend. Galbatorix, Skade and Skandar held on tightly and braced themselves.

But Laela landed lightly, almost delicately, her claws hitting the ground with a faint crunch. She closed her wings and crouched low, and Skade got down first. She helped Skandar after her, and the two of them stood and waited while Galbatorix tossed down their bags and then jumped after them. He landed awkwardly on his lame leg, which folded up without warning and nearly made him fall over. He caught himself on Laela's flank just in time and then sat down, swearing.

Skade helped him up, and he brushed the dirt off himself. 'Thanks.' He winced and rubbed his leg. 'Gods damn you, Brat.'

Skade shook her head. 'He deserved what you did to him a hundred times over.'

Galbatorix muttered a word, and a bright light appeared around him. It spread out to illuminate their immediate surroundings, and they looked around as Laela got up.

They were on a beach. It wasn't anything very impressive; just a long stretch of flat, barren ground. It was freezing cold, but there wasn't much snow on the ground now. Further out, Galbatorix's light shone on black water. 'The sea!' he exclaimed. 'We made it!'

Skade wandered over to have a closer look. There was very little surf; the water lapped half-heartedly at the dirty sand as if the cold had sapped all its energy. Nevertheless, she said; 'We should move further inland. I don't want to get washed away in the middle of the night.'

'Good point,' said Galbatorix. 'C'mon, Skandar, let's find a place to stop for the night.'

The land behind the beach proved to be just as bare as the beach. Dry, dead grass grew in clumps here and there, and the ground between it was covered in snow. But this wasn't fresh, clean snow like the kind that had surrounded their previous camp. It was thin and grubby and full of half-rotted plant matter. Skandar had always thought of snow as pure white and beautiful, and he had never seen snow that was this… well, un-snow-like. He kicked at it distastefully. 'This place is awful.'

Galbatorix was wandering here and there in the vain hopes of finding a sheltered spot. 'I can't say I disagree with you there,' he muttered. 'Well, this will have to do.' He put down their bags and gestured at Skade to join them.

The silver elf caught up with them, looking tired. 'Is this the best you could find?'

'I'm afraid so.' Galbatorix reached out with his mind. _'Laela, could you come here please?'_

The white dragon lumbered over. _'Are you going to camp here?'_

'_It'll do. We're too tired to go much further than this. Can you help?'_

Laela sighed. _'I suppose so. Get out of the way.'_

Galbatorix picked up the bags again and moved back to stand behind her foreleg, gesturing at the others to follow. Once they were well back, Laela breathed in deeply and blew a great sheet of white and silver fire over the patch of ground they had chosen. The snow melted away in seconds, and she continued to blast the ground underneath until it was blackened and smoking, but dry.

Once she was finished, Galbatorix entered the bare patch and dumped the luggage. He crouched beside it and started to mutter in a different language; its sound lilting and strange. After a few moments there was a small flash of light under his hands and a black fire sprang up. He moved back, feeding more magic into it until it had grown into a tall column that radiated heat. Skandar and Skade had followed him into the clearing, and warmed themselves by the fire very gratefully indeed.

Laela yawned and lay down, placing her bulk between them and the sea to block the wind. _'My gods I am tired,'_ she mumbled.

Galbatorix patted her on the snout. _'Well, don't let me stop you getting some sleep. You did very well today.'_

Laela turned away. _'Don't patronise me, half-breed,'_ she said coldly.

'_I didn't mean it like that-,'_

But Laela was not listening. She shut him out of her mind and closed her eyes. Galbatorix stared at her, feeling as if he had just been thumped in the stomach. For a moment he considered trying to talk to her again, but then he sighed and turned away. He was too exhausted to try anything now. And besides, what could he tell her? Now wasn't the time in any case.

He limped back to the fire and sat down, yawning. 'Well that was a long day, wasn't it?'

Skade rubbed her forehead. 'Definitely. How far do we have to go tomorrow?'

'Who knows?' said Galbatorix. 'I mean… tomorrow it'll be time to go… _out there.'_

'You mean over the sea?' said Skade.

Galbatorix rubbed his hands together. 'Yes indeed. Can you imagine it, Skade? Tomorrow we'll be out of Alagaësia for good. Away over the sea, to a different land. We could find _anything_ out there.'

Skade watched him with a hint of unease. His voice was taking on a tone she had begun to hear a lot lately; a kind of half-manical enthusiasm that meant arguing was a bad idea. 'I'm just not sure that Laela can fly that far,' she said carefully.

'Don't worry, I've got a plan,' said Galbatorix. 'Remember how you said that when you flew over the sea to your father's country, Rangda fed you with her energy when you started to get too tired? Well, that's what I'm going to do. I'll share my energy with Laela when she needs it. Anyway, she's much bigger than you were. She can fly further.'

'But it might be further to fly than it was for me,' said Skade. 'And what if there's nothing out there? Have you thought of that? Anyway… Rangda was a Shade and you're not. You wouldn't have enough energy to do it.'

'Yes I would,' Galbatorix said, a little too defensively. 'I told you; I've got Durza's powers now. I can hold far more energy than I could before. In fact, I think I could draw it from fires or the sun like a Shade if I tried.'

'You shouldn't,' said Skade. 'It could be dangerous.'

He faltered a little at that. 'Yes… you could be right. I'll be careful, I promise. Look, Laela and I have already talked it over. She'll fly as far as she can, and if it looks like she can't go any further without coming in danger she'll turn back. How does that sound?'

Skade scratched her ear. 'I suppose we may as well try, now we've come this far.'

Galbatorix relaxed. 'Good.' He looked at Skandar. 'So, are you planning to share any of that?'

Skandar looked up guiltily from the dried fish he was eating. 'Er… yes?'

'Good. Pass it over, then. Parents need food too, you know.'

Skandar couldn't sleep properly that night. Skade had given him plenty of blankets, but the cold air still touched his face and he couldn't cover that without feeling like he was suffocating. The hard ground beneath him didn't bother him so much; he was used to that sort of thing. He'd never slept in a real bed in his life, as far as he could remember.

In the end, sheer tiredness overcame his discomfort and he drifted into an uneasy doze. The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was the dark figure of his father, silhouetted against the firelight. He was always still awake when everyone else was going to sleep, and he always seemed to wake up first too. In fact, Skandar realised vaguely as he slipped away, he'd never seen his father asleep before.

His own sleep was shallow and uncomfortable, and full of unpleasant images. He kept dreaming that he was lost in a forest, and the shadows of the trees were growing into strange, frightening shapes that pursued him over the snow. He woke up again after a while, feeling stiff and cold. His blankets had slid off him. He pulled them back and tried to go back to sleep, but the moment he had moved his senses woke up properly and he started listening to the unfamiliar sound of the surf nearby, and the chirping of insects, and Laela's deep breathing. He tried to keep his eyes shut, but the temptation was too strong. _Just a quick look,_ it whispered. _Just to see if there's anything going on. _

His eyes opened in spite of himself, and he saw the fire and the stars and part of Laela's flank. He also saw the dark shape still sitting exactly where it had been before, and realised that he must have only been asleep for a few minutes. Skandar scowled irritably and turned over. But it had grown even colder now. It seeped right through the blankets, making him shiver uncomfortably. The fire was still going, but it couldn't keep _all_ of him warm. If he faced it, his back got cold, but if he turned away his front got cold. Maybe if he moved closer to it…

Skandar sat up and laboriously started to move his makeshift bed nearer to the fire. That didn't work very well; he couldn't go much closer before he started to feel scared that he was going to get burnt. And when he tried lying down again, he couldn't get comfortable. He sat up, sighing angrily and deciding that he wasn't really very tired anyway.

'Can't sleep?'

Skandar looked up. Galbatorix, still sitting by the fire, was looking at him. He shook his head mutely.

'Well, that makes two of us,' said Galbatorix.

Skandar picked up his blankets and went to sit next to him. Skade was on his other side, fast asleep. Galbatorix shuffled closer to him and helped him wrap the blankets around himself.

Skandar settled down, feeling much better. 'It's so _cold_ out here,' he complained regardless.

Galbatorix's breath misted in the air as he replied. 'Yes. It's pretty unpleasant, isn't it?'

'I can't sleep when it's this cold,' said Skandar.

'Well, you can sleep in the air tomorrow instead if you want.'

'I don't like sleeping on Laela,' said Skandar. 'I get scared that I might fall off.'

'Don't worry; I'll make sure you don't.'

'Why aren't _you_ asleep?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'I don't sleep much.'

'But don't you get tired?'

'Of course I do.'

Skandar nodded vaguely, too tired to pursue this point any further. 'Do you know where we're going?'

'Yes; over the sea.'

'Yes, but what's on the other side?'

'I don't know,' said Galbatorix. 'But we're going to find out.'

'Why, though?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix looked at him. 'Don't you want to see what's there?'

Skandar thought about it. 'I suppose so.'

'Well,' said Galbatorix, as if that settled it, 'So do I.'

'I don't think Mother wants to go,' said Skandar.

'She's just a little afraid that it could be dangerous,' said Galbatorix.

'What if it is?' said Skandar.

'Then we'll just have to deal with it,' said Galbatorix. 'But… you see, the reason why I want to go there is because I think it would be less dangerous than it would be to stay here.'

Skandar gave him an old-fashioned look. 'But you're not scared of _anything._'

'Yes I am,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm scared of lots of things. And the biggest thing I'm scared of is that something might happen to you.'

'Like what?' Skandar said nervously.

'I'm frightened that you might die,' said Galbatorix. 'And that Skade could too, and Laela. That's why I'm taking you all away from here, so that you can be safe.'

'Why?' said Skandar. 'Are there people after us?'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'Well… not really.'

'Then what?'

'You don't understand,' said Galbatorix. 'It's not that there are people after us, but that there will be. I don't know exactly who they are or when they'll come, but they'll come.'

'Why?'

'Because, sooner or later, someone always does,' said Galbatorix. 'Trust me.'

'And you think they might kill me?' said Skandar. 'And Mother, and Laela?'

'Yes.'

'Can't you just fight them?' said Skandar.

'I could, maybe, but I don't want to,' said Galbatorix. He paused. 'Skandar… I should tell you this now, just in case. And I want you to take me very seriously when I say this, and remember it. Can you do that?'

Skandar nodded. 'I'll try.'

'Good. Skandar… if anything ever happens – if we're separated, if you end up on your own…'

Skandar took hold of his father's arm and held onto it. 'But I won't.'

'I hope not. But things don't always turn out how we want. Skandar-,' Galbatorix fixed him with a one-eyed but still powerful stare, 'I want you to make me a promise.'

'I will.'

'If the day ever comes when you're on your own – promise me that you will never, ever tell anyone that I'm your father. No matter what happens. Pretend you've never even met the man called Galbatorix Taranisäii. You don't know him, or Skade, or Laela.'

Skandar stared at him, bewildered. 'But I _am_ your son… aren't I?'

'Yes, Skandar, you are. And if you ever doubt that, just look in a mirror. But the world doesn't need to know that Galbatorix had a son, or that you're him. Because there are people out there who know my name, and they know things about me. And if they knew that you were my son, they would kill you.'

Fear struck into Skandar's heart. 'But why? I haven't done anything!'

'Skandar,' Galbatorix took him by the hand. His own hand was big and rough, the palm marked with a silver oval. 'You have to understand. It's not what you've done; it's what you are. People… some people believe that a man can be born corrupted by his parents, even if he never knew them. Whether you like it or not you're connected to me, and some people will believe that makes you evil. And they will go to any lengths to destroy you if they ever find that out. Don't let them find out, Skandar. Forget about me. Curse my name if you have to; hundreds of people already have. But never tell them who you are.'

'I won't, Father,' said Skandar. 'I promise. But…' he looked into his father's face, his own face full of fear. 'But you're _not_ evil, are you?'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I don't even know what that means any more. I've seen people do evil things… I've done evil things myself. But I've never met anyone who I would call evil. Some people are more trustworthy than others, some are kinder than others, but I don't believe there's any such thing as an evil person. But not everyone thinks the same way as I do. There are people – plenty of people – who prefer the idea that the world is divided into good and evil, and that they are good and their enemies are evil. Somehow, the world feels like a less frightening place if you pretend it's all black and white with nothing in between. If you believe in that view of the world… then yes, I am evil.'

'Why?' said Skandar. 'What have you done?'

'I started a war,' Galbatorix said simply. 'And I won it. My enemies never forgave me for it. And after I had won, the rulers of the country had been destroyed and there was no-one left to lead. So I made myself King, and ruled over my Empire for a hundred years.'

'So you _were_ a King,' said Skandar.

'Oh yes. King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni the First, Lord of Alagaësia, Master of Riders… and so on. I tried so hard to be a good ruler. I crushed the rebels, I made laws, I built cities and dams and libraries, I fought to protect my people… for a while I was stupid enough to think that they would call me Galbatorix the Great or some nonsense like that.'

'And did they?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix sighed. 'No. They called me the Mad King, actually.'

'That's horrible!'

'Actually, that was one of the nicer things they called me. But I kept on doing my best anyway, and my friends helped. But they all died. One by one. I had to bury them, but I never let anyone see me cry. I had to pretend I was strong. And then there was no-one left except me and Shruikan, and I was ill and couldn't fight any more.'

'And then what happened?' said Skandar.

'And while I was helpless the Varden rose up and started to try and destroy the Empire. People started joining them. I could have beaten them easily once I was well again, but then…'

'Then?' Skandar was enthralled.

'And then the Brat came,' Galbatorix said finally.

'Who was he?'

'He was a rider. The first rider to come since before the war. The Varden stole a dragon egg from me, and it hatched for a peasant boy somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I wanted him to come to me, so that I could train him. But I was sick, and my enemies found him first and turned him to their side. He became the leader of the Varden, in the end. I met him later on, and I tried to persuade him that I was a friend, but he wouldn't listen. He believed that I was evil, and insane, and all the other lies the Varden told about me. He wouldn't listen.'

'Did you kill him?'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'I let him escape. I believed that he would see sense in the end. But he didn't. He took your mother and me captive. I kept trying to reason with him, but…' Galbatorix snarled, his face twisting with sudden hatred. 'I should have seen it was pointless. The boy was a vicious, arrogant little tyrant. Worse than that; he was an idiot.'

Skandar drew closer. 'What did he do to you?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'A rider is very powerful, you see. More powerful than anyone really should be, I think. This boy… he was only fifteen or so when the egg hatched for him. Suddenly he had all this power, but he didn't have the maturity to deal with it. It went straight to his head, twisted him. Imagine a selfish child – one who wants everything his own way – and then imagine he had the power to kill hundreds of people and command thousands of others. Terrible things would happen. And they did.'

'What did he do when he got you?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix rolled up the sleeves of his robe, and showed Skandar his forearms. There were scars on them; deep and twisted and horrible in the firelight.

Skandar touched them gingerly; they felt rough and knotted under his fingers. 'He did this to you?'

'Yes. I was beaten and then tortured with poison. The scars became infected; that's why they look like that.'

'Did it hurt?'

'Yes. But I was lucky enough to escape. The Varden were crushed, but the Brat got away. He found other followers and came back a few years later, while your mother was pregnant with you. I went to hunt for him, and he was lying in wait for me. He killed Shruikan. I survived, but I was hurt.' He tapped his leg. 'That's how I got my bad leg.'

'Did you go after him?' said Skandar.

'Not at first. I was lost, and I couldn't remember who I was any more… and while I wasn't there, the Brat tore my Empire apart. He took my throne, just a few days after you were born. But your mother escaped with you and ran away over the sea, and I found her there.' Galbatorix looked seriously at him. 'If the Brat had caught her, he would have killed her. And he would also have killed you. Just before he killed Shruikan, when he had me cornered, he told me that you were both dead. He said "I wanted you to know that before you died… Sire". And then he shot an arrow at me, and another one at Shruikan. And Shruikan died…' Galbatorix stopped suddenly, his eye closing.

Skandar touched him on the shoulder. 'Father…'

Galbatorix raised his head and opened his eye again. 'I'm all right. But I came back, with your mother. The Empire was in ruins, thanks to the Brat. He'd destroyed everything I built in just a few years, and he had become… something terrible. He was duped by a Shade, you see.'

'What's a Shade?' said Skandar.

'A human being,' said Galbatorix. 'At least, they start out as human. They become possessed by evil spirits; it makes them immortal and very powerful in magic. Shades don't understand emotions, or other human things. They don't sleep, they don't eat… all they ever want or understand is power. There was a Shade who had been watching the Brat, and using him for her own ends. She tricked him… tricked both of us. She turned the Brat into a Shade like herself, and they took over my Empire.'

'Then how did you kill the Brat?' said Skandar, puzzled.

'It was quite easy,' said Galbatorix. 'Your mother killed the Shade who had made him, and once that was done we went back to Urû'baen and I confronted the Brat. Well… the Shade. Durza was his name. I tricked him. Durza had wanted to use _my_ body as his own, but he couldn't do that unless I let him. I told him he could have what he wanted if he let the Brat go and took my body in his place. He fell for it. He came out of the Brat's body and into mine.'

'You turned into a Shade?'

'Almost.' Galbatorix opened his other eye. It was blood-red and horrible. 'This eye is a Shade-eye now. I can't make it change back. But Durza didn't manage to take control of me. I fought him and won. And when it was over, I stood over the Brat… he was alive, and he recognised me well enough, even if I had one red eye now. I said…' he paused, trying to remember, 'I said… "do you know who I am?", and he said my name and I knew it was him. And then I picked up his sword and I stabbed him through the stomach, and I stood there and watched him die.'

Skandar scowled. 'Good. He deserved to die.'

'Not many people do,' said Galbatorix. 'But I believe that he did. Anyway, so after that your grandfather became King in my place and the new riders swore to serve him, and I left with you and Laela and your mother and vowed never to come back.'

'Why, though?' said Skandar. 'If the Brat's dead…'

'The Brat did not work alone,' said Galbatorix. 'He has friends who are still alive. And even if he didn't, there are others in the world just like him. You see… he had a daughter.'

'Why didn't you kill her too?' Skandar said innocently.

Galbatorix glared at him. 'I am not a murderer, Skandar. She hadn't done anything to me. She's only your age. But she'll grow up, and her mother will tell her that I murdered her father.'

Skandar listened. 'Was the Brat really his name?'

'No. His real name was Eragon. Eragon Shadeslayer, he called himself.' Galbatorix sneered. 'And that same Shade came back for revenge and turned him into the thing he hated most. Poetic justice, I'd call it.' He sighed. 'But I'll always remember him. When my leg hurts at night, I lie awake and curse him. Sometimes I think I can still see his face and the way he snarled at me just before he killed Shruikan. No… I'm not sorry I killed him. I'd do it again if I could.'

'So would I,' said Skandar.

Galbatorix glanced at him. 'You would?'

'Yes. I hate him.'

'Just as they all hated me,' Galbatorix murmured.

'What does that mean?'

'Never mind. You'll understand one day, Skandar.'


	3. Over the Sea

**Chapter Three**

**Over the Sea**

Skandar woke up next morning without any memory of having fallen asleep, and found himself blinking in the pale early-morning light. He'd fallen asleep with his head resting on his father's leg.

He sat up, yawning. Galbatorix, already awake, smiled at him. 'Good morning.'

Skandar saw that he was still sitting where he'd been the night before. 'Were you like that all night?'

Galbatorix straightened his leg, groaning. 'Argh, that's better. Yes, pretty much.' He nudged Skade awake. 'Come on, let's get something to eat so we can go.'

Skade got up and stretched. 'Is it morning already?'

Galbatorix glanced at the sky. 'More or less.'

Grey, unenthusiastic daylight had now revealed the entire beach, and if anything it looked even more drab now than before. Nothing grew for as far as the eye could see – no trees, no scrub, no reeds – nothing but dead grass and seaweed washed up on the sand by the tide. When they looked out over the sea they found nothing in that direction either; just flat, featureless water, stretching out to the horizon.

Laela was already awake and looking at it. _'So that's our path from hereon, is it?'_

Galbatorix got up and came to join her. _'Yes. D'you think you can manage it?'_

The white dragon stretched her wings. _'I'll try. If you think you can trust me to.'_

The veiled accusation stung him. _'Look, Laela… I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I'm just-,'_

'_-Not ready,'_ Laela interrupted. _'Yes, I know. You already told me so.'_

She gave him a cold, steady look. The silence stretched out uncomfortably for several seconds, and then Laela came closer and nudged him with her snout. _'Whatever happened to my rider?'_ she said. _'Who gave me this one instead? When did he turn into this secretive, paranoid old man?'_

'_Oh, I don't know,'_ Galbatorix said sourly. _'Maybe it happened some time during those one hundred years of being called the Mad King.'_

'_Well you're not the King any more, Mad or otherwise,'_ said Laela. _'So you can stop that right now.'_

'Galbatorix?' Skade's voice intruded. 'You'd better come and have something to eat.'

Galbatorix glanced at Laela and returned to the fire, where Skade passed him some food. 'We're running out,' she said. 'We'll have to hope that there's something out there we can pick up. If there _is_ something out there at all.'

'There will be,' said Galbatorix, taking it. 'So, how did you sleep last night?'

'Badly,' said Skade. 'I hope it's warmer in this new country.'

'With any luck it will be. Eat up, Skandar. We've got a big day ahead of us.'

Once they had eaten, they threw away everything that wasn't strictly necessary in order to lighten the load, and Galbatorix fastened their bags to Laela's saddle. Once he was done, he started to pull himself into the saddle. But Laela suddenly pulled away from him, straightening up so that he couldn't reach the saddle. Galbatorix went after her, but she turned away, keeping him at bay.

'_Laela-!'_

Laela turned back abruptly and lumbered toward him. Before he could move, she lashed out with a forepaw and knocked him over. He landed hard on his back, and she pinned him down and brought her snout close to him, so that they were eye to eye.

Galbatorix struggled. _'Laela, stop it! What the hell are you doing?'_

'_Now you listen to me, Galbatorix Taranisäii,'_ Laela hissed, _'And you listen well. I'm not putting up with this any longer, understand?'_

'_Laela-,'_

'_Shut up. You're hiding something from me. You've been hiding it ever since I came back, and I am not going to let you keep shutting me out like this. You are going to tell me what's going on, or you're never getting on my back again.'_

Galbatorix winced. Her talons were pressing down on him – not quite hard enough to injure him, but more than hard enough to hurt. But Laela did not relent. She held him still, glaring at him with a rage that was all the more terrible for its suddenness while Skade and Skandar looked on, horrified.

At last, Galbatorix stopped evading her gaze and looked straight at her. His red Shade-eye opened, and as both of them looked into hers she saw that same emotion that she had briefly caught in him before: deep, cold, terrible fear. _'Laela,'_ he whispered. _'Don't make me do this. I'm not ready.'_

She faltered. _'Not ready to do what? I don't understand. What are you so afraid of?'_

Galbatorix turned his head and looked at Skade and Skandar. _'What I'm afraid of doesn't matter. This isn't about me any more, Laela. I'm doing this for Skandar. We have to get him out of the country, and fast, before… Laela, you know what he is.'_

Laela looked at Skandar. _'Yes…'_

'_We both know,'_ said Galbatorix. _'And that's why he must grow up away from Alagaësia. Somewhere where no-one will know about me, or him, or anything that happened here. I have to get him to safety.'_

'_Then why didn't you just tell me that?'_

'_I did. I told you months ago. I will not fail Skandar like I failed so many other people I cared about.'_

'_No. That's not good enough. You're still hiding something from me.'_

Galbatorix fixed the white dragon with a terrible stare. _'Take me over the sea, Laela,'_ he said, and his mental voice had become deep and powerful and commanding – a voice that had inspired a revolution and led an Empire. _'Only take me away from here and take my son to safety, and I will tell you everything.'_

Laela faltered. _'But what if-?'_

'_I swear it on my honour as a rider,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I will tell you everything you wanted to know as soon as we reach this new land. Please, Laela. For my sake.'_

Laela lifted her claws and let him up. _'Fine. If that's what you really want, then we'll go.'_

Galbatorix got up and brushed himself off. 'Right, then,' he said, as if nothing had happened. 'Let's go. Come on, Skandar.'

Skandar came to him, looking nervously at Laela. 'What just happened?'

'We had a minor disagreement. But it's all sorted out now. Right, Laela?'

'_Of course,'_ Laela growled.

Galbatorix, Skade and Skandar got into the saddle at last, and once they were in place Laela took off without another moment's pause and struck out over the sea at a steady glide.

Now the true journey began. Laela flew as high as she dared, her pale silver wings held out rigidly from her sides and only beating occasionally to keep her aloft. It was an efficient mode of flight, one which could be kept up for a very long time.

Before long the coast of Alagaësia had vanished in the distance behind them, and there was nothing as far as they could see but endless water. Laela kept going straight ahead, navigating by the sun, and by midday the ordeal had begun.

There was nowhere to land, no way to have any respite for either her or her passengers. Galbatorix, Skade and Skandar had to eat in the air, and eventually Skandar forgot his fear of napping on dragonback and dozed. Skade too snatched a little sleep, relying on the leg-straps attached to the saddle to hold her in place, though Skandar was too short to benefit from these and had to be held in place by his father's strong arms. Galbatorix did not sleep. He remained awake, his Shade-eye occasionally opening to survey the empty horizon, his cherished curly hair caught and tugged by the wind. He showed no sign of fatigue or anxiety and did not shift about much in the saddle. He looked like a man so driven and determined that he had become completely unaware of himself and his own needs, or anything else that might distract him from his goal.

The day dragged on, and still they flew with no sign of land in sight. Evening drew in, and it had not changed. Laela showed no sign of tiring as the sun went down, and they flew on through the night. When morning came, Skandar woke up to find that they were still flying. The ocean below them looked exactly the same as it had on the previous day, and the horizon remained identical in every direction. It was as if they were flying on the spot.

The sun slowly climbed into the sky and another day began. But Laela did not slow down or show any signs of turning back. She kept going, not speaking to any of them, her silver eyes staring straight ahead.

It was not until noon came that she finally did begin to show signs of fatigue. She jerked slightly in midair, and beat her wings hard and a little erratically to regain her steady glide. The air over the ocean had become very still, and the lack of updraughts made it much harder for her to stay aloft on them. As she flew on over the next hour or so she began to beat her wings more and more frequently to maintain her altitude, and Galbatorix, linked to her mind, began to feel her growing and dangerous exhaustion.

'_Laela, are you all right?'_

Laela struck the air with her wings, giving herself a short burst of speed. _'Wearing out,'_ she said briefly. _'Can't go on much further.'_

'_Can you see land up ahead?'_

'_No. Need…'_ pain flashed across their shared minds for an insant. _'Need… rest,' _Laela managed. _'Soon.'_

Galbatorix glanced up at the sun. _'I can give you more energy.'_

'_No. You don't… have… enough.'_

'_But I can find it. Be calm, Laela. You're going to be all right.'_ Galbatorix took in a deep breath. It was now or never. He opened the channel between them as widely as he could, and then began to pour his energy into Laela's body. The white dragon jerked slightly at the shock of it, but he felt her pain start to recede almost immediately and kept on giving her energy until it was all gone. When he was done he closed the channel and sagged gently in the saddle. The effort had drained him more than he'd realised.

'_That's better,'_ said Laela, her mental voice no longer faltering. _'Thankyou. But you shouldn't do that again. You'll hurt yourself.'_

'_I'll be all right.'_ Galbatorix glanced at the sun again, and resisted the temptation to add "I hope".

Skade made mental contact. _'Galbatorix, what's going on?'_

'_It's all right, Skade. Laela was getting tired so I gave her some energy to help her keep going.'_

'_Yes, but is there any sign of land yet? We can't keep going like this forever.'_

'_Not yet. Look, if we haven't sighted any by evening, we'll turn back.'_

'_Agreed.'_

Noon passed, and the sun began to drift back down toward the horizon. Galbatorix could feel Laela starting to wear out again, and he knew that he didn't have the energy needed to help her this time. And there was still no hint of anything on the horizon.

All right. He looked up at the sun. It was now or never.

Galbatorix made sure he was secure in the saddle, took firm hold of Skandar, and began to concentrate. He closed his normal eye and opened the Shade-eye, and let something rise up out of his mind. He felt it start to affect him almost immediately. His eyes burned, and his skin began to feel icy cold, and pain started to stab at his heart. He gritted his teeth and reached out with his mind. But not to Laela, or Skade, or Skandar. He reached out toward the sun.

It was a ridiculous notion, of course. The sun had no mind to touch. It was simply a mindless presence, a great ball of burning… energy.

It was as if the moment of connection were a physical blow. He jerked once, all over, and then… and then all he could do was sit there, as rigid as if he had been carved out of wood, as the energy flowed into him. It came from the sun and poured into his mind and body in an unquenchable flood, so much and so fast that it nearly caused him physical pain. The sheer force of it made him feel as if his body were about to disintegrate from the strain of trying to contain it all, and for a second he started to panic. But he had prepared himself for something like this. With a supreme effort, he opened the channel to Laela again and let the energy flow through him and into her.

The effect was instantaneous. Laela let out a roar of shock. White magic crackled visibly over her wings, and jets of fire shot uncontrollably from between her teeth. For a moment she flailed desperately at the air, panicking, nearly out of her own control, but then her system – much more powerful and attuned to magic than her rider's – absorbed the energy and began to use it. She beat her wings with unstoppable strength, far faster than a dragon as tired as she was should be able to, and what had been a steady glide became a mad charge. She flew faster and faster, untiring, until the endless sea blurred below her. And still Galbatorix did not close the channel, and the energy continued to come. Skade felt him trembling slightly and held onto him, trying to make mental contact and failing. Skandar, realising that something was wrong, turned his head and saw that his father's face had turned into a hard, frozen mask – the mouth twisted into a rigid snarl that looked half-angry, half-painful. The eyes were wide open and staring at nothing, and both of them were blood-red. They were not his father's eyes at all. Skandar called out to him, suddenly terrified, but the grim visage did not respond to his voice in the slightest.

Laela, frightened and bewildered, barely able to control herself in the face of the great flood of energy being poured into her body, put all her efforts into flying – almost desperately so. The energy made her feel as if she could explode with it at any moment unless she used as much of it as she could, and she beat her wings harder and harder, unaware of any pain or tiredness. She belched silver fire into the empty air, consuming more energy, but it was not enough. Panic-stricken, she looked ahead as if searching for something that could help her.

And there, at long last, she saw the thing she had been looking for ever since they had set out: the dark, irregular shape of another shore.

Relief made her feel cold all over. She bent her energies toward that goal now, knowing she could reach it, knowing they were going to be all right. All she had to do was reach it…

The land drew closer and closer. Laela could see the shapes of mountains now – tall and jagged, like fangs. Soon other details could be made out: the dark forest beyond the shore, the low hills in front of those, and the beach in front of that. They were nearly there…

When Laela was close enough to begin her descent, the supply of energy abruptly cut off. She nearly fell out of the sky at the shock of it, but managed to steady herself and went into a spiralling descent. She landed clumsily on the stony beach, sending up a shower of pebbles and sand, and almost instantly flopped onto her belly, panting and gasping.

Skade was already fumbling urgently with the leg-straps. She managed to undo them, and almost instantly Galbatorix toppled sideways out of the saddle. He landed hard on the beach with a dull thump and lay there on his back with his eyes closed, unmoving.

Skade helped Skandar down as fast as she could and then jumped after him and ran to Galbatorix's side.

'Galbatorix!'

Galbatorix twitched and groaned, and then sat up. 'That really hurt.'

Skade crouched beside him, reaching out to touch his face. 'Thank gods – what the hell happened?'

Galbatorix rubbed his face. 'How do my eyes look?' he said.

Skade peered at them. 'Same as before – one black, one red. What did you _do?'_

'I… uh… used Durza's power,' said Galbatorix. 'Drawing energy from the sun. I didn't realise it would be so powerful…'

Skandar was keeping well back. 'Father? Are you all right?'

Galbatorix managed to stand. 'Yes, I'm all right. I didn't mean to scare you, Skandar.'

Skandar didn't move at first, but then he saw his father's face and found that he recognised it again, and powerful relief rushed through him as he ran to him. Galbatorix embraced him, saying; 'It's all right, Skandar, I'm still me. Promise.'

Skandar followed him closely as he limped over to Laela and crouched by her head, touching her as he communicated mentally with her. She groaned and turned an eye toward him, and he scratched her forehead, murmuring to soothe her. 'It's all right, Laela. We made it. We're all right. You get some rest now.' Laela sighed and closed her eyes, and Galbatorix ushered Skandar away from her, saying; 'C'mon, let's leave her in peace for a while. She's done a lot of hard work the last couple of days.'

Skade was still looking anxious. 'Are you sure you're all right?'

Galbatorix kissed her on the cheek. 'I'm more than all right. Look!' he made an expansive gesture that took in the landscape around them. 'We made it!' he said enthusiastically, suddenly sounding young and eager. 'Look at all this! It's a whole new land, just for us!'

Skandar, standing by his father's side, took it all in. The sun was going down, but there was still enough light to see by. They were on another beach, this one strewn with pebbles rather than sand. Grey and white birds were circling overhead; he could hear their racous screeches above the crashing of the surf. Inland there were dunes that became hills and then rose up into high, rocky mountains. There was snow on the mountains, but none anywhere else as far as he could see; in fact it was surprisingly warm compared to the land they had just left.

Galbatorix was looking at it with an expression of deep relief. 'Thank gods. I was right. There really was something on the other side. How d'you like it, Skandar?'

Skandar looked uncertain for a moment, but then he grinned. 'I like it. Is it really all ours?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'An uninhabited land belongs to the first person to set foot on it.' He paused. 'So I suppose that would mean it belongs to Laela. I shall have to tell her when she wakes up.' He realised that neither Skade nor Skandar were really listening, and sighed. 'Well,' he said, 'I'd better get the fire going again, then…'

Skandar helped his mother to unpack the blankets while Galbatorix conjured up another black fire, and once they had eaten he curled up in the warmth and promptly went to sleep. It was dark by this time, and Skade yawned and put aside the remains of their last loaf of bread. 'We should get some sleep too,' she said.

Galbatorix nodded. 'You make yourself comfortable. I think I'll just sit up for a while and watch the moon rise.'

Skade gave him a suspicious glance, but she was too exhausted to argue. She lay down by the fire on her makeshift bed, and not long afterward she too was asleep.

Galbatorix sat down cross-legged by Laela's flank, and looked up at the sky. The last of the sun had gone, and the stars were coming out. After a while, the moon rose. He watched it slowly climb into the night sky. It was a crescent, he noticed, and sighed.

He had always been used to a dangerous and changeable life. In fact, it seemed to him as he looked back on it now that he had never lived for a day without the knowledge that there were people who wanted him dead. At least, not since he had been a boy, and that had been a very long time ago. Now, though, it was different. Alagaësia was far behind him, and he was in a country where himself and his loved ones were the only living people anywhere. No-one was after him, no-one was trying to kill him. He had no responsibilities other than to look after the others.

To his surprise, the idea looked rather boring.

He sighed. That was the problem. He'd realised it some time ago. After a life that had lasted more than a hundred years, where danger and mistrust had awaited at every turn, he didn't know what to do with himself when those things were absent. It was making him paranoid and overexciteable, and that was one reason why he couldn't help but wonder if he was just imagining the thing that had been worrying him.

No. He stopped that thought very quickly. It wasn't just his imagination. That just wasn't possible. It was real, and he was going to have to find a way to deal with it.

He looked down again, at Skade and Laela and Skandar. The three of them were deeply asleep, worn out by the mad journey he'd led them on over the last few months. Laela was angry with him, and Skade was resentful, and no wonder. He'd been neglecting them lately. Skandar didn't seem particularly upset. He adored his father and believed everything he said, and as far as he was concerned this was all just a big adventure.

To his surprise, Galbatorix felt a lump in his throat as he watched his sleeping son.

Because that was it, he thought. Skandar was innocent. He didn't understand how dangerous the world could be, and how unforgiving other people were. The only people he had ever known were Laela and his parents. He didn't remember Skade's desperate flight from Urû'baen, or the crippling and near-murder of his father that had led to the city's destruction. He didn't know about what had happened after the confrontation with Durza, or how much it had scarred both his parents. He didn't even really remember what had happened shortly after his mysterious second birth, after Skade's father had transformed him with his magic. Galbatorix believed that he was probably blocking it; unable to cope with the magnitude of it for the time being. When he remembered, or allowed himself to remember, his power would return. There was no doubt about that, at least not in Galbatorix's mind.

He remembered Skandar's reaction to the story of Eragon the Brat. It had been simple and childish; just like Eragon had done, he saw the story in terms of black and white, good and evil. One day he would know better. He wasn't stupid, and only an idiot would continue to entertain _that_ notion. Galbatorix considered that it was probably the most childish one he had ever encountered, and he'd encountered it again and again.

But he swore to himself that he would try and protect Skandar's innocence for as long as he could. What did it matter if he was allowed to believe that the world was kind and that nothing bad could ever happen to him? Sooner or later he would have to change his mind. Better later than sooner.

Galbatorix looked up at the stars again. 'Well,' he said aloud, 'That's it, then. Done.'

The words frightened him more than he had expected them to. But they were true. He was finished. The only thing he had left to do was finished, and it didn't matter if the others had doubts about it. They'd gone along with his plan because they trusted him, and he'd done what was best. They were safe now. Out here there were no enemies, and Skandar could grow up safe and never be persecuted like his father had. And he would grow up with parents who loved him, and what more did anyone need?

'It doesn't matter,' Galbatorix whispered, though he wasn't sure who he was talking to. Himself, maybe. 'I don't matter now. Only Skandar matters. He's safe now. I can rest now.'

But he couldn't block out the treacherous voice in his head that whispered back. _You can't protect him forever. You're fading, old man. Fading fast. And this time… there is no coming back._


	4. Galbatorix's Confession

**Chapter Four**

**Galbatorix's Confession**

'_Laela? Laela, wake up.'_

Laela groaned and opened her eyes. _'What? What's going on?'_

The first thing she saw was Galbatorix's face looking down at her. She looked at him, then at the sky behind him, and realised that it was dawn. The gulls were squarking overhead, and there was a chill in the air.

'_Good morning,'_ Galbatorix's voice said in her head. _'How do you feel?'_

Laela got up with some effort. _'Not too bad, actually. But my wings are quite sore.'_

'_That's all right. We don't have to do any flying today.'_

Laela stretched and looked around. Skade and Skandar were still asleep, and she took in the landscape around them with a kind of wonder. _'My gods… we really made it.'_

'_Yes, Laela. It's over. Our last journey is done.'_

There was a kind of strange resignation in Galbatorix's mental voice as he said this, and the memory of the previous day suddenly came rushing back. _'Galbatorix, what happened?'_ she said, lowering her snout toward him. _'How did you do that?'_

'_I was using Durza's power – drawing energy from the sun. It wasn't easy, and I gave Skandar a bit of a fright… and you too. I'm sorry about that, I should have warned you. But there was no time to lose.'_

'_You scared the scales off me,'_ said Laela. _'I didn't have a clue what was going on.'_

'_Oh.'_ Galbatorix shared a feeling of remorse. _'It didn't hurt, did it?'_

'_What? Oh, no. But if you're going to do that again, then for gods' sakes warn me.'_

'_Don't worry, I don't plan to. I didn't enjoy it much either. It made me feel…'_ he broke off and waved a hand at the beach. _'I think we should go for a walk. You know, to have a look around.'_

Laela glanced at him. _'All right,'_ she said.

The two of them left the makeshift campsite, walking side by side. The sun was rising into the pale sky in a subdued display of yellow and gold. But there were hints of pink in it too.

Laela watched it. _'You know,'_ she said, _'It's a beautiful world, isn't it?'_

Galbatorix, limping along by her shoulder, patted her on the leg. _'It certainly is.'_

They walked in silence for a time, enjoying each others' company.

'_I'm glad we did this,'_ Laela said at length. _'I've missed it. Seems we've done nothing but fly ever since I came back. You wouldn't sit still. We never had much time to talk.'_

'_I know, and I'm sorry for that Laela. I was just… anxious.'_

'_You don't say?'_ Laela said sardonically. _'I was starting to think maybe there was a solid reason for people calling you the Mad King. Honestly, how old are you?'_

'_What? I don't know. A hundred and twenty-something, give or take ten years.'_

'_Well, you're definitely not acting your age.'_ Laela paused. _'And I'm glad about that,'_ she added more kindly.

Galbatorix stopped and looked out over the sea. _'Let's stop here for a while.'_

He sat down on a handy rock, and Laela crouched beside him. She was more than intelligent enough not to say anything, and waited patiently for him to speak.

Galbatorix appeared to be deep in thought. Finally, he said; _'Yes… this is a good spot. After all…'_ he glanced at her. _'We have a lot to talk about.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'We do.'_

There was silence for a time. And then, at last, Galbatorix opened his mind and let Laela in. He said nothing, but simply allowed the white dragon to see his true thoughts and feelings, and his memories. Laela too remained silent as she immersed herself in them, absorbing his essence.

It took hardly any time, but to them it felt like hours. They said nothing, but nothing needed to be said – not when their link was this deep and intimate.

A thousand thoughts passed between them. A thousand memories.

When they were done and the connection narrowed again, Laela heaved a deep sigh. _'So that was it,'_ she said.

Galbatorix shared a feeling of anxiety – almost embarrassment. _'I don't know if I'm just making a fuss about nothing,'_ he said. _'I mean… maybe it's just part of getting old. I wouldn't know. And I _have_ been under a lot of stress. But I know it's real. And… it's getting worse. I'm certain of it.'_

He had tried to anticipate Laela's reaction to it for a long time, and now he waited for it, feeling slightly sick.

To his complete shock, she responded with a feeling of confidence. _'I'm glad you told me, Galbatorix. And I can see why you kept it secret. But now that you _have_ told me, I can help you.'_

'_I know,'_ Galbatorix said wretchedly. _'I'm just not sure that-,'_

'_Galbatorix.'_ Laela nuzzled him with surprising gentleness, and spread her wing over him to protect him. _'You've spent so long looking after other people that you forget to look after yourself. But you don't have to. All you have to do is let me look after you. Just like I always did before, when you were a boy. You haven't forgotten those times, have you?'_

Sweet sadness rose up inside him. _'Of course I haven't, but-,'_

'_No buts,'_ Laela said firmly. _'You and I will find a way to beat this, and that's all there is to it.'_

'_B – well, all right, but what do you suggest?'_

'_First,'_ said Laela, _'You're going to tell Skade about it.'_

'_Yes. Of course. I was planning to-,'_

'_Good. Then go and do that now. Make her some breakfast first, though. I'll keep an eye on Skandar while you two are talking. I'm sure Skade will understand. She's put up with you for this long, hasn't she?'_

Galbatorix gave her a doubtful look. She looked back, her great eyes full of love.

Wonderful, warm relief filled him. He stood up. _'Yes. You're right, Laela. Time to be straightforward about things. Skade has to know.'_

Laela shared a feeling of rueful amusement. _'Exactly. Off you go, Sire. I'll be right behind you.'_

Skade chewed methodically at the dried apple and cheese. It was old and rather stale, but she was too hungry to care. She watched the gulls foraging among the rocks not far away, and wondered if they had much meat on them.

Galbatorix was watching her a little anxiously. 'I'm sure we'll be able to find some better food in the hills.'

Skade nodded. 'I was worried this place might be as empty as that beach we were on before, but it looks a lot better.'

'I'm sure we'll be fine,' said Galbatorix. 'Look…'

Skade swallowed a mouthful of apple. 'Yes?'

'You don't… you're not unhappy that I brought you here, are you?' said Galbatorix.

Skade couldn't help but be touched by the concern in his voice. 'Galbatorix,' she said, 'If I was unhappy I would have told you.'

He looked slightly relieved. 'Well, yes, I believe you there, but I can't help but feel like I dragged you away without consulting you.'

'You _did_ consult me. And, yes, I had my doubts, but I changed my mind.' She looked at him with a smile in her eyes. 'Because I trust you.'

Galbatorix smiled back. 'And that… it feels inadequate, but that means everything to me, Skade. It always has. I was terrified that I might let you down.'

Skade finished her food. 'Aren't you going to have anything?'

'Hm? Oh, no thanks. I'm not hungry. Look, d'you want to go for a walk? We could explore inland a little way.'

'Of course.' Skade got up and brushed the sand off herself.

To her surprise, Galbatorix offered her his arm. 'Shall we, my Lady?'

Skade smiled and accepted it. 'I would be honoured, Sire. Skandar – do you want to come too?'

Laela took her cue. _'Now, don't you go leaving me here alone,'_ she said, projecting her words to all of them. _'What if I got lost? I don't have a clue where I am!'_

Skandar looked to his father. 'My legs are still sore. Can I stay with Laela?'

'Of course you can,' said Galbatorix. He let go of Skade's arm, and unstrapped his sword from his back. He held it out to Skandar. 'Here. Take this and guard the camp.'

Skandar took it, wide-eyed. 'Can I really?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Take good care of it. It's the most valuable thing I own.'

'I will,' Skandar promised.

'Practise some of the moves I taught you,' said Galbatorix. 'Use a stick if the sword is too heavy. Your mother and I won't be gone too long.'

'You take care of Laela,' said Skade. 'We don't want anything to happen to her, do we?'

Laela lowered her head and did her best to look pathetic, and Skandar burst into a fit of giggles. 'I'll make sure she doesn't get hurt,' he said. 'Promise.' He made an experimental wave with the sword, and nearly fell over.

Galbatorix shook his head. 'Well, you've convinced me.' He bowed politely to Skade and held out his hand. She put hers into it, and the two of them walked away inland, side by side and moving sedately, as if they were still a King and Queen enjoying a gentle stroll through their castle.

That wasn't something they could keep up for long, however. Galbatorix had trouble climbing the dunes with his lame leg, and at one point he lost his footing and went tumbling down the side of one, landing in an undignified heap at the bottom. But he got up laughing, and he and Skade left the beach behind and went up into the hills. They were thickly forested with tall, stately conifers, of a kind they had seen back in Alagaësia, but only in the North and never in large numbers. Here, there were hundreds. The ground beneath them was carpeted with needles, and the air between the trunks was rich with their fragrant scent.

Skade and Galbatorix walked among them, hand in hand. They could hear the calls of unfamiliar birds, and see plants they had never encountered before growing in the sunlit patches. Ahead of them a white deer bounded away and vanished in the gloom. But they could both see that this place was just as cold as the Northlands they had left for much of the year; there were large patches of snow on the ground, and when they came across a pond most of its surface was frozen over. Still, it was warmer than the beach by virtue of the trees sheltering them from the wind, and in its way it was very pleasant.

'I like it here,' Galbatorix said eventually. 'It's not that different from the North, really. I think I've always been most at home in cold country.'

'Well, it's the land of your people, isn't it?' said Skade.

Galbatorix didn't answer. He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, a sure sign that he was deep in thought. Skade watched him silently.

'You probably feel like I've been neglecting you,' Galbatorix said a little abruptly.

Skade gave his hand a squeeze. 'No I don't.'

'Well you should, because I have,' said Galbatorix. 'I could tell you were unhappy about it. Laela feels the same.'

'I could tell _she_ was unhappy with you,' said Skade.

'Really? What in the world tipped you off?'

'Well, I think it was the part where she knocked you over,' said Skade.

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Yes, she does that when she wants to give me a talking-to about something.'

'And what did she want to give you a talking-to about?' said Skade.

'The fact that she was feeling left out,' Galbatorix said simply. 'You see… I'd been refusing to let her into my mind. So she couldn't see everything I was thinking.'

'You can do that?' said Skade, surprised.

'Oh yes. There are different levels to it, you see. Most of the time the link is only strong enough for us to hear each other's mental voices and share the most superficial emotions. And feel each others' pain, of course. But the link has to be deepened for us to truly become one. We have to concentrate to do it, and when we do it's not necessary to say anything; it's as if we have one mind in two bodies. But of course we can't do that all the time, because it more or less makes it impossible to sense anything else. And we can only do it if we both want to. If one resists… it can't happen.'

Skade was fascinated. 'I never knew it worked like that. It must be strange.'

'I suppose it is, in a way. Most people couldn't even imagine it, and I think many of them wouldn't want to try it. To share yourself with someone else so completely… it's not easy. You're constantly having your mind examined, and nothing stays hidden for very long, no matter how terrible or how embarrassing it might be. If you try it, your partner knows about it very quickly.'

'And then they pin you down and threaten to burn your head off?' Skade suggested.

'In a nutshell. That's the oldest principle of being a rider, you see. It's almost a sacred thing. You can't be truly linked if you're dishonest with each other. True harmony and, with that, true power, come only to the greatest and wisest of all.'

'Was that a quote?'

'Yes. Can't remember where from.'

'So what were you hiding from Laela?' said Skade.

'I didn't want her to worry, that's all,' Galbatorix said wretchedly. 'I didn't tell you about it for the same reason. All I wanted to do was get to the end of this last journey as quickly as we could. Because it was more important.'

Skade tensed. 'Worry about what?'

'I never told you about what happened back at Urû'baen, did I?' said Galbatorix. 'The day we fought Durza and Laela came back. When I… when I died.'

'It was terrible,' Skade said softly. 'I thought I would die too. I wanted to. I'd already lost you once and found you again, and then I saw you die in front of me…'

Galbatorix squeezed her hand. 'I know. I know, Skade. Sometimes I hate myself for all the pain I put you through. I've…' he laughed a short, bitter laugh. 'I still don't really understand why people choose to stay with me instead of doing the sensible thing and keeping their distance. What have I ever given anyone except trouble and pain?'

'You know perfectly well,' Skade said sharply. 'And you also know that I'm not interested in listening to your self-pity.'

Galbatorix threw up his hands in mock-defeat. 'All right, all right, I get the hint. But when I died… it wasn't like all the other times it had happened. I died and came back dozens of times, thanks to the spell of true immortality. But I never remembered anything. It was just like waking up. But that time, when it happened… I saw things.'

'What things?' said Skade.

'I didn't remember all of it at first. But it's been coming back to me. I went to…' he smiled beatifically. '…I went to the afterlife. I saw it, Skade. It was real.'

Skade caught her breath. 'What was it like?'

'I saw all my memories,' said Galbatorix. 'I went drifting back through them and they were all there, all laid out for me to look at as if they were books in a library. And I saw you. I saw myself lying dead, and you crying over me, and I turned and just… floated away. It was like there was something calling to me. And then I woke up in a snowy forest, just like the forests in the North, and there were people there. Dozens of them, all waiting for me.'

'Dead people?' said Skade.

'Yes. My friends, my family… everyone. Even my…' Galbatorix hesitated. 'I never told you I had a daughter, did I?'

'What?'

'It was before we met,' Galbatorix said hastily. 'I promise. I told you about Flell, didn't I?'

'The one who betrayed you to the elders,' Skade growled.

'Yes. She didn't do it out of malice; she was scared. She was pregnant with my child, you see, and when she asked me to marry her I confessed to her. Vrael forced it out of her later on, when I wasn't there. By the time the child was born, I had already become the Great Betrayer.' Galbatorix sighed. 'I never saw the child, but when Flell and I were reunited later on she told me it was a daughter, and that she looked just like me. She did, too. When I saw her in the afterlife. My eyes, my hair. She told me her name was Liallana Taranisäii.'

'What happened to her?' said Skade.

'Vrael killed her,' said Galbatorix. 'After she was born he took her away from her mother and murdered her. Because I was her father.'

Skade closed her eyes for a moment. 'Oh gods…'

'Vrael told me so to my face,' Galbatorix said levelly. 'The last time we ever met. And then I killed him. I never, ever felt any remorse for it. Never.'

'And you shouldn't have,' said Skade. 'He deserved to die. I think… I understand why you were so anxious about Skandar now.'

Galbatorix smiled sadly. 'I'd already lost one child. I didn't want to lose another. But now I know that when I die I'll be reunited with her again, and with everyone else. And I was happy, you know. I was happy to be there. I didn't care about anything any more; all I wanted to do was stay there with them forever, and never feel pain or fear or worry again. It was so beautiful…' he looked at Skade. 'But do you know what happened then?'

'No,' said Skade.

'I heard a voice calling me,' Galbatorix said simply. 'And it was yours. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't stop hearing it. And so I came back. For you. And here I am.'

Skade embraced him tightly. 'Never leave me again, Galbatorix,' she said. 'Never.'

Galbatorix held onto her. 'I came back for you,' he murmured. 'You called me, and I came.' He let go and looked her in the face. 'But you know I can't promise that, Skade.'

She looked back fiercely. 'You don't have to promise anything. You'll never leave me because I'll never let go of you. Never.' She kissed him.

For a moment the two of them were locked together, holding each other close, their hands in each others' hair and their hearts beating as one. When they parted again, a kind of peace had come over them both.

'Now tell me what's troubling you,' Skade said firmly.

'So I came back,' Galbatorix resumed. 'And I don't have any intention of leaving again if I can possibly help it. It's just that… well I know I look healthy. And I _feel_ strong enough, but…'

'But?'

'But I'm not the same as I used to be, and I don't think I ever will be again,' said Galbatorix.

'You're not talking about your leg, are you?' said Skade. 'What does that matter?'

'No, it's not my leg, though that is a nuisance. I can deal with that.' Galbatorix opened his red eye. 'It's this,' he said, pointing at it. 'This is what's bothering me.'

'It doesn't hurt, does it?' said Skade.

'Not physically. But… Skade, I've got a Shade's eye. I've seen how it frightens you, and Skandar. Even Laela gets nervous if she sees it. That's why I keep it closed most of the time. I hate it, and I wish I could change it back. It's not just vanity,' he added. 'But Durza gave me more than just his eye. It's not that I feel weak or sick, but I don't… I don't quite feel like myself any more.'

'What do you mean?' said Skade.

'I mean that I don't feel quite human,' said Galbatorix. 'Do you know… I haven't slept in over a month.'

Skade stared at him. 'What? How is that even possible?'

'I can still sleep if I want to,' said Galbatorix. 'But I've been avoiding it. Making myself stay awake. I really do mean it when I say I haven't slept. Not even for a few minutes. I sit up all night, waiting for dawn.'

'But no-one can stay awake that long!' said Skade. 'It's impossible!'

'It should be impossible, but I seem to be managing it quite well,' said Galbatorix. 'I don't get tired any more. All I need to do is sit quietly and relax for a while, and I'm fine. It's the same with food. I enjoy eating, but I don't feel hunger. It's just not there.'

'You're just imagining it,' said Skade.

'That's what I thought for a while. But there's more.' Galbatorix looked nervous. 'I've been forgetting things. I thought it was just ordinary forgetfulness at first, but it's not in my nature to be forgetful. And it's not just forgetfulness either. There are big gaps in my memory… more of them all the time. I don't know what I'm forgetting – it's just gone.'

'You're getting old,' said Skade. 'That's all.'

'Maybe. I hope so. But… listen, Skade, there's a reason why I stopped sleeping. That's what's been bothering me the most.'

'What is it?' said Skade.

'I stopped sleeping because I was too frightened,' said Galbatorix.

'You were having nightmares?'

'At first, yes. But it got to be more than just that. You see…' he took in a deep breath, 'I could deal with a few bad dreams. Even though… they were very bad, but not enough to make me stop sleeping. No. But a few months after we left Urû'baen, something strange happened. I woke up in the morning and there was a dead snake in my hand. I had no idea how it'd got there… it had been crushed to death. Recently. I got rid of it before the rest of you woke up, but it kept worrying me all day. And then I realised that I _did_ know where it had come from. I just suddenly remembered, out of the blue. The poor thing came too close to me while I was asleep, and I killed it with my bare hands without even waking up.'

Skade said nothing.

'There's more,' Galbatorix went on. 'I kept having dreams – they were vague, but they were always about fighting someone… grappling with them over something. And then a few weeks after the snake, I woke up and found I was holding my sword. I'd picked it up and taken it out of its sheath in my sleep, and I was holding it up like I was about to hit something with it. And…' he winced. 'The blade was hanging right over Skandar's head. If I'd brought it down… he would have been killed.'

'Galbatorix-!'

'I know. So after that I took to burying it every night. Nothing happened for a while, but then I woke up and found I'd dug it up again. I hadn't done anything with it, but it was right there in my hand. I tried burying it under a boulder – I lifted it on with magic; it would've been impossible to move with my bare hands. Next day my hands were covered in blood and all my fingernails were broken. I'd been trying to lift the damn thing in my sleep.' He breathed in deeply. 'And so after that I decided to just stop sleeping. And I haven't since then.'

Skade had grabbed him by the arm. 'Galbatorix, what does this mean?'

'I think it means that Durza isn't dead,' said Galbatorix. 'That part of his mind is still inside me, bound up with mine. When I sleep, that part tries to take control.'

Skade hissed. 'And if that happens-,'

Galbatorix looked at her steadily. 'Yes. If Durza took control of me, he would kill you and Skandar.'

'But you can control him, can't you?'

'Yes, while I'm awake. All I have to do is stay that way.'

'But you can't keep doing that forever,' said Skade.

'I have to,' said Galbatorix. 'But Laela's optimistic. She believes we'll find a way to deal with it. And maybe we will.'

'We will,' said Skade. 'But why didn't you say anything before?'

'Because, frankly, I'm tired of having people worry about me all the time. Skade, I thought… when I realised that my memory was going, and when I stopped feeling hunger or tiredness… I barely feel pain any more, you know… I started to think that maybe I was dying, or going insane. And I was going to tell you… I had visions of myself going into hysterics and wailing about how I was doomed and someone had to do something and so on and so forth… and then I thought, "no, forget it. You're a father now. Worry about that for a change". So I put everything into getting Skandar out of Alagaësia as fast as I could, in case something happened and it was too late. That's what I've done, and in the face of that… I can't say I have any regrets.'

Skade smiled at him. 'You're a good father.'

'Do you really think so?' Galbatorix asked seriously.

'Of course I do,' said Skade. 'I've seen how patient you are with him, and how you respect him and spend so much time with him. I… well, it's a side of you I've never seen before.'

'I'm proud of him,' said Galbatorix. 'I never stop feeling thankful to have him. You know, I've wanted children most of my life. While I was King, people were constantly telling me I had to take a Queen and father an heir. I always said no. You know I did. I would never have broken my promise to you, no matter how great the temptation was. But the temptation was very strong sometimes. There were women I met from time to time that I was attracted to, including a Surdan princess who… well, it's a long story. But the strongest temptation of all was the thought of having children. Sons and daughters of my own… I wanted it more than anything. I believed that it would never happen, but I was wrong and I'm glad.'

'He loves you very much,' said Skade. 'You're a hero to him.'

'I know, and I don't think he'll ever know how much that means to me. I've been trying to spend all my time with him. I want to teach him everything I know. Swordplay, archery, stealth, leadership, magic…'

'He doesn't have any magic,' Skade reminded him. 'At least…'

'He might. It's a little early yet. We know he has one power, at least.'

'Had.'

'It will come back. When he's ready. I can't teach him how to rediscover it. How could I? I've no idea how it works. But it will come back one day. It has to. It's part of him.'

Galbatorix and Skade spent the next hour or so exploring the forest, enjoying some much-needed time together. They found a good spot to move the camp to, and once they'd marked it to make it easier to find later on they started foraging for more supplies. There were edible mushrooms about, and they also found an apple tree and a stand of nut trees. Galbatorix caught a couple of large birds, and Skade refilled the waterskin she'd brought from the pond. After that they reluctantly decided that it was time to return to the beach.

They found Skandar and Laela waiting for them. Skandar had his father's sword, White Violence, and was duelling with the air. He was surprisingly nimble, and the sword's weight didn't seem to bother him much. But he'd always been stronger than an ordinary ten-year-old.

He ran to meet his parents the instant he saw them. 'Guess what? Guess what happened?'

Galbatorix grinned. 'What is it, Skandar?'

'There's _people_ here,' said Skandar. 'Laela and I saw them!'

Galbatorix and Skade both halted. 'What?' said Skade. 'Where?'

Laela had followed close on Skandar's heels. _'The little prince talked me into letting him fly on my back for a while.'_

'It was amazing,' said Skandar. 'It was just like being a dragon-rider. We went up the coast to look around, and we found out there's people here. I wanted to go down and talk to them, but Laela said no.'

'How many people?' said Galbatorix. 'What kind of people?'

'I don't know, I didn't see them very well,' said Skandar.

'_There's a town,'_ Laela put in. _'Not very far away, built right on the coast. I thought I could smell the smoke from here. But there's people, all right. Lots of them. Human, most likely.'_

Galbatorix scratched his beard, not saying anything. It was clear that the news had caught him off-guard. 'Well I'll be damned,' he managed.


	5. Tara

**Chapter Five**

**Tara**

The town was larger than Galbatorix had expected. He looked down on it from Laela's back, and could not believe his eyes.

It didn't look like much – just a cluster of houses nestled in a bay. There was a port and a small fleet of fishing vessels, and further inland there were fields and a herd of animals – possibly goats. Smoke rose in little wisps from the chimneys, and they could see people in the streets.

'_Oh my gods,'_ Galbatorix mumbled. _'I don't believe it.'_

'_I didn't believe it either,'_ said Laela. _'Shall we land? Out of sight, of course,'_ she added.

'_Yes, of course.'_

The white dragon flew away inland and found a spot among the trees where she could land out of sight. Her passengers got down off her back, and she curled up and sighed. _'Well, you have fun. Try not to be gone too long, and don't do anything silly.'_

Galbatorix patted her snout. _'Laela, I do believe I've lost interest in doing silly things.'_

Laela winked at him. _'I'll believe that when I see it.'_

She watched them leave, unable to completely hide her nervousness.

It took a few minutes to walk to the town. When they were at the edge of the trees, they stopped and looked out at the buildings just beyond the fields. There was someone in the nearest one, busy dragging a hand-plough over the dirt. He was obviously human; rough-hewn with black hair and the simple clothes of a farmer.

Skandar was watching him with fascination. 'What's he doing?'

'He's a farmer,' said Skade. 'He's preparing the soil for something. Maybe to plant seeds.'

'Is he human?' said Skandar.

'Yes, definitely,' said Galbatorix.

'He doesn't look like you,' Skandar observed.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Nevertheless. Now…' he turned to look at them. 'We don't know how these people will react to seeing us – whether they'll be friendly or not. I suggest that I go in on my own, since I'll blend in best. And if everything is all right, I'll come back and-,'

'No,' said Skade.

'Look, I'm just-,'

'No.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I really doubt there'll be any danger, but I just want to be cautious.'

'I'm coming with you,' said Skandar.

'So am I,' said Skade. 'I'm not letting you out of my sight again.'

'All right. Fine.' Galbatorix scratched his beard. 'I've got a different suggestion. How about we just talk to that farmer over there and see what we can find out. He's on his own, and we're well away from the town so if it turns ugly we can get away without too much trouble. How does that sound?'

'It sounds like a good idea to me,' said Skade. 'Let's go.'

They left the trees and walked to the fence surrounding the field. The farmer was coming toward them, and he spotted them fairly quickly. They saw him pause and look at them before returning to his work, apparently unbothered.

Galbatorix waited until he was close to them. 'Excuse me!' he called.

The man looked up. Galbatorix waved to him, and he put down the plough and wandered over. 'Yes?' he said. 'What be the-,' he stopped as he got close enough to see them clearly, and they saw the surprise on his face. 'By the _tharian lleaud!_' he exclaimed. 'I did not…' he stopped and bowed. 'It be an honour to see ye, sir. And ye, milday. And ye, little lord.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Er… the honour is all mine. Could you tell me the name of this town please?'

'Certainly, sir,' said the man. He spoke the common tongue, but with a sharp, harsh accent. 'This be Sealord.'

'Tell me about it.'

'As ye wish, sir.' The man wiped his forehead with his arm, leaving a smear of dirt across it. 'We're fishermen mostly, sir, but there be a blacksmith or two and a tanner. We trade with the other cities along the coast. And with your people, of course.'

'My people?' said Galbatorix.

'Yes, sir.' The man paused. 'Begging your forgiveness, sir, but I've not seen one of your people this far South in many a year.'

'I'm sorry?' said Galbatorix.

'I'm sorry, sir,' said the man. 'But… well, as far as I know, dark elves don't generally…'

Galbatorix gaped at him. 'You know what a dark elf is?'

'Of course I do, sir. There was one living in Rivermeet a few years back, sir. I spoke to him a few times.' He looked at Skade. 'I've not seen an elf of your like before, though, milady.'

'What's a dark elf?' Skandar piped up.

'Why, your father is, young sir,' said the man. 'Unless I'm mistaken,' he added, glancing at Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix just stared at him. He had gone very pale.

'My name be Caeron, by the by, sir.'

Galbatorix finally pulled himself together. 'Are you saying,' he said slowly, 'That there are dark elves in this country?'

Caeron gave him a strange look. 'Well of course there are, sir. They live up North, on the other side of the Y Castell mountains. But like I said, they don't generally come this far South as far as I know.'

Galbatorix paused. 'What country _is_ this?'

'Sir?'

'Just answer me.'

'Well, it's Tara, isn't it, sir?' said Caeron.

Galbatorix took a couple of steps backward. _'Tara?_ Did you say Tara?'

'Yes, sir.'

'But that's not…' Galbatorix stopped abruptly. 'Well, thankyou for your time, Caeron. We'll be on our way now and let you get back to work.'

'Yes, sir. I… uh… yes, sir.'

Galbatorix saw that Caeron was giving him a hopeful look. 'Yes, what is it?'

Caeron looked at the ground. 'Well, sir… I was just…' he looked up. 'Could ye say a blessing over me, sir? If it would not be too much of a trouble for ye, sir.'

'Oh.' Galbatorix looked a little taken aback. 'Well, all right.' He held out a hand, palm forward. For a moment he paused to think, and then he said; '…_Mai 'r chyneua chan 'r tharian lleaud achlesa 'ch_.'

Caeron gave him an awestruck look. 'Thank ye, sir. Many times thank ye.'

'Think nothing of it,' said Galbatorix. He turned on his heel before Caeron could reply, and limped away back toward the forest.

Skade and Skandar hurried after him. He was moving surprisingly fast given his crippled leg, and when they caught up with him they could hear him breathing heavily.

Skandar drew level with him. 'Wasn't _he_ strange,' he said. 'Do all humans talk like that?'

'No,' Galbatorix said shortly.

'Dark elves!' Skade exclaimed. 'What in the gods' names…?'

Galbatorix said nothing. He kept his silence for the rest of the way back through the forest, until they reached the spot where Laela was waiting for them. He went straight to her and sat down by her head.

Skandar sat beside him. 'Father? What's wrong?'

Galbatorix looked up. 'What?'

'I said, what's wrong,' said Skandar.

'Oh. I'm sorry, but…' Galbatorix trailed off.

Laela lifted her head. _'Welcome back. What did you find out?'_

'There are dark elves here,' Skade answered when Galbatorix didn't say anything.

Laela started. _'What? How is that possible?'_

Galbatorix appeared to rouse himself. 'It's possible,' he said. 'We… Laela, we talked to one of the people in that town. He's seen dark elves. He _recognised_ me! I asked him some questions… he said there are dark elves in this country. Further North somewhere, but… dark elves, Laela. I don't…'

Laela had stood up and was puffing little jets of silver fire. _'Dark elves!'_

'I don't believe it,' said Skade.

'Don't believe what?' Skandar interrupted. 'What's going on? What's a dark elf?'

'The dark elves were your father's people, Skandar,' said Skade. 'They're supposed to be all dead.'

'Tara,' Galbatorix said suddenly. 'The man said this country's name is Tara.'

Laela's tail struck a tree, shattering the trunk. _'Tara!'_

'But it's supposed to be a myth!' Galbatorix half-shouted, suddenly getting up. 'There's no such _place_ as Tara!'

'You mean you've heard of it before?' said Skade.

'Of course I have!' said Galbatorix. 'It's… Tara is supposed to be the land the dark elves originally came from. But it was thousands of years ago… so long that none of them remembered it except as a myth. But…' he breathed deeply to steady himself. 'It's real. We've found Tara. And we've found the dark elves who stayed behind. Or at least we know where to find them.'

There was absolute silence for a few seconds.

Skade grinned. 'Galbatorix, this is wonderful!' she said.

Galbatorix said nothing for a moment, but then he grinned too. 'Yes, Skade. It's more than wonderful. It's the answer, don't you see? We've found the way to fix things.'

'What things?' Skandar demanded.

'We have to go to them,' said Galbatorix, ignoring him. 'They can _help_ me, Skade. Dark elves know all about problems of the mind. They can change me back to normal – get rid of the eye, let me sleep again. And… we'd be at home with them. I'm sure they'd welcome us. They gave Laela and me a home once before.'

Laela nodded. _'They saved our lives. They were a family to us when no-one else would take us in. And they can help us now.'_

'Then it's settled,' said Galbatorix. 'We're going North, to find these dark elves.'

'Agreed,' said Skade.

'_Definitely,'_ said Laela.

'Well… let's make camp for now,' said Galbatorix. 'It's too late in the day to set off now; we should leave it to tomorrow.'

'_I could definitely use the extra rest,'_ said Laela.

'Right, then I'll light the fire. Skandar, go and collect some branches and we'll build a lean-to. That'll give us some extra shelter in case it snows during the night.'

'Yes, Father.'

They had made camp countless times during their journey so far, and by now it was almost a reflex action. Skade and Skandar found a handy low bough on a nearby tree and began stacking branches against it to create a crude shelter. Once it was thick enough they covered it with pine needles, and the result was surprisingly sturdy. Galbatorix lit the black fire and spitted the birds he'd caught over it, and then helped arrange some blankets into a crude bed inside the lean-to. Since they had plenty of time, they made some seats around the fire with some rocks and dirt and then sat down to rest and eat.

Skandar didn't eat much. He'd caught his father's excitement, and was already full of questions. 'Where're we going? What are dark elves like? How far is it? Can I go into the town?'

Galbatorix sighed and put his food aside. 'Skandar, could you be quiet for a moment please?'

Skandar fell silent and nodded.

'Right,' said Galbatorix. 'I've got a deal for you. If you stop asking questions and let me finish my lunch without being interrupted, I'll tell you a story. How does that sound?'

Skandar opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again and settled for a nod.

Galbatorix smiled. 'That's the ticket. Finish that bird while you're waiting; it's good for you. And I think Laela would like the bones.'

Skandar chewed on a roasted bird-leg, his sharp teeth easily crushing the bone. Once he was done with it, he sat and waited impatiently for Galbatorix to finish.

Finally, Galbatorix swallowed the last mouthful and tossed the bones toward Laela. She caught them neatly in midair, and he turned to Skandar.

'Well done. That wasn't too hard, was it?'

Skandar shook his head, a little unconvincingly.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'Time for a story. Ready?'

Skandar nodded.

Galbatorix sat back on his seat, thinking. Then he began. 'A very long time ago, before the dragon-riders existed, there was a war between dragons and elves. Those were light elves – Southern elves, some called them. They had done something to offend the dragons – Southern elves were always rude and arrogant, so it's not really surprising. But the elves knew that dragons had a special power; a dragon hatchling could bond itself to an elf, or a human, if it chose to. That process would give the one the hatchling bonded to great powers, and make them into partners forever. The elves wanted to make an alliance with the dragons, so that their people could become dragon-riders. I think that the war began because the elves wanted to subjugate the dragons and make them give up their eggs by force, but the dragons were far too proud for that. Either way they ended up at war. But the elves also knew that if they didn't manage to ally with the dragons soon, another race could do it before they did. There were humans in the land then, but the elves didn't think they were a threat – they were short-lived and had no magic, and why would dragons ever respect them? But there was another race in Alagaësia at the time that could be a threat. They were also elves, but a different kind of elf. Dark elves. Northern elves. The Northern and Southern elves had always been enemies. They had many differences; the Southern elves were godless, but the Northern elves worshipped the moon – the _tharian lleaud_. The Southern elves believed life was meaningless and that the only thing that made it worth living was the pursuit of power and wisdom. And they were arrogant. It was something built into them – as much a part of them as their pointed ears. They believed that their race was superior to all others – to them, every other race was either an enemy to be crushed or something to be tolerated as long as it was useful. That was why they wanted to ally with the dragons – so that they could use their power to rule over Alagaësia and make their race supreme above all others. They could drive every other race to extinction, or turn them into their vassals.' Galbatorix paused. 'In the end, it turned into a race. Whichever race created the first rider would emerge victorious. But what the light elves didn't realise was that the dark elves were already ahead of them: they had a dragon egg in their possession. All they needed was to find the person it would hatch for. But they couldn't. No matter who they allowed to handle it, it refused to hatch. And as time went by it began to look as if the light elves would win. And then, one day, everything changed.'

'What happened?' said Skandar, forgetting his promise.

Galbatorix smiled. 'The dark elves had made a mistake. Just like their cousins, they had forgotten about everything except themselves. Elves have always made the error of underestimating the non-elvish races – especially the human one. But the dark elves learned to know better. One day, right in the middle of the war, a human boy went hunting in the mountains of the Spine. His name was Tam. He was just an ordinary boy, as far as anyone knows… orphaned by the war, maybe, and driven to the Spine out of desperation. Either way, he got lost there. He would have died, but luck brought him to a secret valley deep in the mountains. There was a dark elvish settlement there, and they took him in and cared for him. While he was there, the dark elvish King suggested that he be allowed to handle the dragon egg. Some objected, but the King insisted. And when Tam touched the egg… it hatched. The dragon bonded itself to him, and he became the first of the dragon-riders.' Galbatorix smiled, a little bitterly. 'Very few people know that, but it's the truth. The first of the Shur'tugal, the first of my order, was a mere human.'

'Why don't people know?' said Skandar.

'Because that wasn't what got written down in the history books,' said Galbatorix. 'The story was suppressed – along with many other things. Anyway, so Tam became the first rider, and the dark elves hailed him as their chosen leader and a man destined to greatness. They made him one of their people and taught him their secrets; he learned their language, their magic, their legends and their history. They forged a sword for him and taught him to fight like a dark elf, and some versions of the story claim that by the time he had grown to manhood his hair changed from brown to black – the colour of a dark elf. His dragon grew to her adult size, and the two of them could fight together with a power that had never been seen before in Alagaësia. Tam's magic was greater than that of any elf, even the greatest dark elvish sorcerer. He was promised to a dark elvish maiden – the King's daughter – and the dark elves gave him a new name. Taranis. They called him Taranis.'

'So did they make him their King?' said Skandar.

'No. Unfortunately, the dark elves had placed too much trust in Taranis. He was very young, and he had a power that he had no way of truly comprehending – not even the dark elves fully understood it. I don't know exactly how or why it happened, but I know what happened next. Taranis betrayed the dark elves. He abandoned them; flew away on his dragon and never returned. He went back to his own people, and they greeted him as if he were a god and gave him everything he wanted. Even King Paelis, their ruler, knelt to him. And Taranis… remember what I told you about Eragon the Brat, Skandar?'

Skandar concentrated. 'He was an idiot?'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Yes. But I also said that he was too powerful and that it corrupted him because he didn't have the maturity to deal with it. Well, the same thing happened to Taranis. He was offered every opportunity to abuse his powers, and he took it. He didn't displace King Paelis, at least not directly, but he more or less became the ruler of the entire human race. Paelis did whatever he wanted, and very few people were willing to stand against him. Those who did were crushed. Taranis ended up being called Taranis the Tyrant. He led armies all along the coast, burning and destroying rebel cities and villages… no-one could resist him. The gods alone know what could have happened if he hadn't been stopped.'

'How did they stop him?' said Skandar.

'The light elves hadn't gone,' said Galbatorix. 'They had ended the war with the dragons and made an alliance with them, and it was mostly thanks to one of their number. A young elf called… Eragon.'

Skandar blinked. 'Eragon the Brat?'

'No. The Brat was named after him. The first Eragon had found a dragon egg and had also become a rider. Most people believe that he was the first rider ever to exist, because that was the story his successors told, and who would argue with them? The old riders were nearly gods on earth. Anyway, the humans rebelling against Taranis allied themselves with the elves under Eragon's leadership. They ambushed Taranis' armies and crushed them, and Eragon and Taranis fought each other in single combat. Eragon won, and both Taranis and his dragon were killed. And the last hope for dark elvish supremacy died with him. The light elves made more riders; some elvish, some human, but all under their command. In the end there were hundreds of them. More than enough for the light elves to take what they wanted, which was everything. They conquered the entire country – King Paelis was killed and his throne stolen, and the human race became vassals to the light elves. The urgals resisted… they were nearly wiped out. The dark elves fought back too, but they didn't have a chance against an army of dragon-riders. Once the light elves were secure in their power, they set out to do exactly what they had always planned to.' Galbatorix sighed. 'They called it "racial cleansing". That was a lie. It was genocide. Mass murder on a scale we could scarcely imagine. There were dozens of different races in Alagaësia before the riders came. By the time they were done… there were only a handful left. Humans, dwarves, urgals and light elves. The others… gone forever.'

'They killed them all?' said Skandar.

'Yes. The silver elves, the Drei'totza, the unicorn herders, the plains dragons, the sand people, the durgians, the shapeshifters… I honestly don't know how many. I suspect that there were other races that were destroyed so completely that there weren't even any records left of them.'

Skandar shivered. 'What happened to the dark elves?'

'They were one of the first races the light elves attacked. Hundreds of them were slaughtered. The rest went into hiding – lived in secret settlements in the mountains. The riders found them and massacred them. The children were taken as slaves, and the adults who survived fled North and disappeared. Now there was no-one left who could ever challenge the riders… their power was absolute. Or so they thought.'

'So that's why the dark elves are all gone?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix nodded. 'But the light elves didn't know that they had sown the seed of their own destruction. How could they have? They were far too arrogant to realise it until it was too late. But destiny, you see, works in strange ways. Taranis ended up keeping his promise.'

'But he was dead, wasn't he?'

'Yes. But a man's existence can carry on for a time even after his death. Taranis was gone, but he had left something behind. He had taken a human wife and fathered children by her, and his descendents survived in the city of Teirm. The riders had been ruling for nearly a thousand years, and they had forgotten all about it. But then, one day, one of Taranis' descendants went to the slave market. Her name was Lady Ingë – she was young and unmarried, and an only child. The last of her line. In the slave market that day, she came across a slave who was different from all the others. The rest were human, but he was an elf. A dark elf – the only dark elvish slave left alive. Ingë saw him, and she took pity on him. She bought him and took him home with her, and she…' Galbatorix smiled sadly. 'She didn't treat him like a slave. She was in awe of him because he was elvish, I think. She took his chains off and gave him fine clothes and proper food, and she talked to him and told him about herself. And before long… she fell in love with him and he with her.'

'Did they get married?'

'No. They couldn't possibly. It was absolutely forbidden. No-one could even know that they were in love.'

'Why?'

'Because he was a slave and she was a noble. And because he was elvish and she was human. The light elves had made laws against humans and elves marrying or loving each other; it was thought of as the most unnatural and obscene thing anyone could do. Ingë must have known that. But she was in love. If you ever fall in love yourself you'll understand, Skandar. True love makes people strive to be together no matter what, and Ingë stayed with her beloved even though it was horribly dangerous for both of them. They met in secret… loved each other in secret. And then, one day… Ingë found out that she was pregnant.'

'Did she run away?'

'No. She should have, but she didn't. I don't know why. Maybe it was because she knew she'd be found. I think she realised just how dangerous things had become for her then. Not only was she carrying a bastard, but it was also a half-breed. Half human, half dark elf. No-one had ever seen one before, but Ingë was going to give birth to one. Of course, when her parents found out they wanted to know who the father was, and when she wouldn't tell them they followed her and caught her with her lover. They were both arrested and put on trial by the riders. The penalty for what they had done was death. But because Ingë was a noble, she was offered a second chance: if she took a potion that would kill her child before it was born, the death sentence would be removed and she would be set free.'

'Did she do it?'

'No. She refused and was sentenced to death along with her lover. They stayed in prison together until the child was born, and the day after that both of them were executed.'

Skandar tensed. 'What happened to the baby?'

'Ah yes. The bastard half-breed. It was a boy. Well, the rider who had passed the sentence on his parents couldn't bring himself to kill a baby, so he gave the child to foster-parents to raise. He grew up in Teirm among humans, not knowing what he was or who his true parents were.'

'Do you know what his name was?' said Skandar.

'Well, his foster parents called him Arren. Arren Cardockson. They were kind to him; they loved him like their own son. But when he was nearly a man he found out the truth. And when he was foolish enough to admit it to other people, he found out what being a half-breed really meant. People spat at him, called him vile and unnatural… some of them even tried to kill him.'

'What did he do?' said Skandar.

'He became very angry at the world, and the system that had killed his parents. He wanted justice, but when he asked for it he was ignored. So he decided he would do the only thing that would give him the power to change things and make sure that what happened to his parents would never happen again. He decided that he would become a rider.'

Skandar grinned with excitement. 'And did he?'

'Yes. He went to the riders' trials and was accepted, and he went to Ellesméra, the light elvish city, and was allowed to handle the dragon eggs. One hatched for him, and he became a rider and was trained. It wasn't long before the other riders noticed things about him, though. They found that he was stronger and faster than the other young riders, even before he was trained, and that his mental powers were very strong – stronger than any other rider's. His command of magic was exceptional, and he was a natural leader and a great speaker. They called him charasmatic and persuasive – his tutors were very proud of him and said he would surely find a place on the great council of elders one day. But Arren was still a half-breed, and he knew it, and one day the elders found out. They immediately sentenced him to death for a crime he hadn't committed, because they wanted to be rid of him as fast as possible – before anyone else found out that they had made a half-breed into a rider. Arren escaped and fled North, and he found the last of the dark elves and learned the whole truth about himself and about them. They taught him their secrets as they had taught Taranis, and told him that he was their hope – Taranis' gift to them. He would do what Taranis had failed to, and undo the crimes of the other riders. Arren didn't want to do any of those things; he was afraid, and he thought that fighting against the other riders was insanity. But he was happy with the dark elves and believed they were his family; the one he had always been searching for.' Galbatorix sighed. 'But the riders had taken his other family, and now they took this one as well. They tracked him down, out in the North. That night there was a massacre. The last of the dark elves were finally destroyed, and Arren barely escaped with his life. The other riders chased him, over the endless plains, and shot him down with arrows. Arren survived… but his dragon didn't. She died, and he felt her die. He escaped with his life, but he was insane now and full of horrible hatred for the riders who had done this to him.'

'Was he-,' Skandar began.

'He went back South,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'Not knowing where he was going. He was caught and taken to Ilirea, the city of the riders. Vrael, the ruler of the riders, had him flogged and thrown in the dungeons. The next day he would die. But two other riders – old friends of his – helped him to escape. He had remembered who he was now, and he ran into the countryside to hide. He became sick and crazed, and was close to death, but he was found and cared for. When he woke up from his fever, he found that he was being watched over by an elvish woman.' Galbatorix glanced at Skade, and the two of them shared a secret smile. 'He fell in love with her the moment he saw her. But then she told him something that horrified him.'

'What?' said Skandar.

'She told him that she was not an elf at all, but a dragon. The elders had changed her into an elf as punishment for attacking the Queen of the light elves. She despised elves, and she hated being trapped as one.'

'But when she met the half-breed, she found a reason to love it,' Skade put in.

'So she did,' said Galbatorix. 'The two of them were deeply in love, but they could not stay together. The elf woman was changed back into a dragon, and she flew away over the sea to look for something. She promised she would return, and Arren swore an oath to her that he would love her forever and never love anyone else no matter how long it took for her to return.'

'Was Arren-,' said Skandar.

'And so,' Galbatorix said loudly, drowning him out, 'He was alone again. But he found another dragon, and then other riders joined him because they hated the elders as much as he did. They rose up and rebelled, and they won. Ilirea was destroyed, and the enemy riders were all killed. Arren killed Vrael himself, and it was all over. He wanted to go away over the sea to look for his beloved, but his friends persuaded him to stay. They told him that because he had destroyed the old rulers of Alagaësia, it was his right and his duty to replace them. So he made himself King, and ruled over Alagaësia for a century. His friends all died, one by one, and he was all alone. People tried to make him find a Queen, but he remembered his promise and refused no matter what, even though he was lonely and wanted a family.'

'What happened to him in the end?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix smiled. 'In the end, his beloved came back to him and changed herself back into an elf so that they could be together. Arren made her his Queen, and they had a son. And Arren the half-breed bastard King knew that his waiting had not been in vain, and that now he had the thing he had always wanted; a son of his own. He named him after his own father, the dark elvish slave, and he loved him with all his heart and swore to always protect him.'

Skandar was silent for a time. 'Father?' he said at last.

'Yes, Skandar?'

'That story was about you, wasn't it?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Arren Cardockson the half-breed, son of Skandar Traeganni and Ingë Taranisäii of the Ancient house of Taranis, that's me. When my foster parents told me the truth about what I was, they told me the name my real parents gave me before they died. That name was Galbatorix Taranisäii. So I took it back and stopped being Arren Cardockson forever.'

Skandar looked at Skade, with a kind of quiet understanding. 'And you're the dragon who changed into an elf, aren't you?'

'Yes,' said Skade. 'I chose to become an elf again so that I could stay with Galbatorix forever, because I loved him. That's why I have claws and sharp teeth, and why my eyes look like this. There are no elves that look like me.'

Skandar looked at his own hands. 'But what about me? What am I?'

Galbatorix touched his shoulder. 'You have to understand, Skandar… everything that happened to me, all the terrible things that were done to me… they all happened because I was a half-breed. You're my son, and I care about you more than anything in the world – more than I care about myself. I would die to protect you if I had to. That is why I decided to take you away from Alagaësia. You're a half-breed, just like I am. More than a half-breed. Part elf, part human, part dragon. I was afraid that if you stayed in Alagaësia, you would be killed or worse.'

'Weredragon,' Skandar half-whispered. 'I'm a weredragon, aren't I?'

'Yes. You have two shapes, and both of them are you.'

'But I can't _change_ any more,' said Skandar, his fists clenching. 'I just can't do it.'

'You can,' said Galbatorix. 'It will come back. You just have to let yourself remember how.'

'Can the dark elves teach me?' said Skandar. 'Like they taught you?'

'Maybe. They know all about how minds work, after all. Do you see why I was so excited?' said Galbatorix. 'I thought the dark elves were all dead, but they're not. They're here, and we can get to them. There are no riders here to come after us. And when we find the dark elves… they can help us, just like they helped me once before.'

Skade nodded. 'They can help us all.'

They spent the rest of that day in and around their new camp, enjoying some leisure time at last. Galbatorix and Skade both decided that entering Sealord would draw too much attention, much as they wanted to buy some food and other supplies, and that it would be better to stay in the forest for the time being. 'I'm tired of drawing attention to myself,' was how Galbatorix put it, and Skade agreed, though Skandar was disappointed. He was fascinated by the idea of seeing full-blooded humans, and wanted to go into the town and talk to some more of them. To distract him, Galbatorix took him with him on a foraging expedition to find more food and other useful items.

'And if we don't find enough, _then_ we'll go back there and buy some things,' he added when Skandar was reluctant.

That did the trick, and the two of them set out.

Skandar was still full of questions. 'So you're really a half-breed,' he said.

Galbatorix nodded. 'It's always made me feel cut off from other people. I never could feel completely at home with humans because I wasn't one, and even when I was with the dark elves I knew I wasn't quite one of them either, even though they were kind and respectful to me.'

'Respectful?' Skandar repeated.

'Yes. The dark elves weren't – aren't – like the light elves. They believed that half-breeds were a good thing, and that I was something special rather than some vile creature to be put down, which was how the light elves saw me. You see, because the light elves believed humans were inferior to them, they believed that mixing human and elvish blood was a kind of violation – it contaminated elvish blood with human weakness. But the dark elves saw humans as equally strong as elves, in their own way, and they believed that mixing human and elvish blood meant taking the good qualities of both races and putting them together. Does that make sense?'

'I… think so,' said Skandar. 'Are humans weak, though?'

'In some ways, yes they are. Humans are short-lived and have no magic, and they're physically weaker and slower than elves. Those were the qualities the light elves always saw in them – they saw them as blind and feeble and stupid; barely more than animals. But the dark elves envied humans because they have the ability to change and grow. Elves don't change. They can live forever, but they always stay the same. Humans only live for about seventy years, but they make more out of it. They do more in the time they have – they _live_ more. Or so the dark elves told me, and they said I was better than a pure blooded elf because I had elvish strength and magic but the heart and passion of a human, and that was something they could never have.'

Skandar listened. He was a good listener, and waited until Galbatorix had finished speaking before he said; 'So what about me?'

'Well,' said Galbatorix. 'The honest truth is that I don't know. But I can tell you one thing; you aren't the first weredragon.'

'I'm not?' said Skandar.

'No. While I was in training I found the records of all the dead races of Alagaësia, and the weredragons were one of them.'

'What happened to them?' Skandar demanded. 'Where are they now? Are there any left?'

'I don't know. All I found was one reference that said they existed once, and all it said was that they were like werewolves – a kind of shapeshifter with only two shapes: human and dragon. But I have met a shapeshifter. His name was Faegareth and he could change himself into any shape he wanted. He told me that shapeshifters have always been solitary.'

'Well I'm not,' said Skandar.

'You don't have to be. It's all up to you, Skandar.' Galbatorix paused to examine a clump of plants growing at the base of a tree.

'I want to change again,' said Skandar. 'Can't you teach me how to do it?'

'No, Skandar. I told you before; I don't know how it works. Huh. Well what d'you know, I think I recognise this plant.'

Skandar gave it an irritated look. 'What's so special about it?'

'Just let me check…' Galbatorix dug around the base of the plant, and unearthed a thick white tuber. 'Ahah! Just as I thought! Look at this.'

Skandar took the root and examined it. It was about as thick as his thumb, and quite long. 'Can you eat it?'

'No. Well, you can but you shouldn't.' Galbatorix wiped the dirt off his hands on the hem of his robe. 'It's _fróðleikr eitr_ – Wizard's Bane. It's a herb. You can use it to make a special potion that disables magic – if anyone with magical powers drinks it, they'll lose them and be unable to cast any spells until the potion wears off.'

'Did you ever use it on anyone?' said Skandar.

'A few times. It's much simpler and less dangerous to just cast a spell on them and set up a mental block so they can't access their magic. But if you don't have any magic of your own you can use Wizard's Bane. It's very dangerous, though. If you don't get the dose exactly right, it can have nasty side effects. When I was in training as a rider they taught me to be very, very careful with it.' Galbatorix took the root back from Skandar. 'If you eat this root without preparing it, you'll be crippled for life. It'll take away your every power – magical and psychic – forever. So if you ate this, you'd never turn into a dragon again.'

'But I can't do that anyway,' said Skandar.

Galbatorix tossed the root aside. 'Maybe, but it would become an absolute certainty if you used Wizard's Bane on yourself. Never eat any kind of plant if you're not certain of what it does. It could kill you.'

They moved on, looking for anything edible, and eventually came across a wild raspberry bush. While they were filling their pockets with the fruit, Galbatorix said; 'Well, I think I've talked enough for one day. Now it's your turn. What can you teach me, Skandar?'

Skandar looked doubtful. 'I don't think I know anything much.'

'Prove it. What do you know?'

Skandar thought it over for a while. He paused to rub his chin, and Galbatorix smiled, recognising his own gesture. Skandar reminded him of himself more all the time.

'Well,' the boy said at last, his manner touchingly solemn, 'Well… dragons never stop growing, and they start breathing fire when they're six months old. The ancient language word for a dragon rider is "Shur'tugal", but humans call them "Argetlam" which means "silver hand" because all riders have a silver circle on the palm of the hand they first touched their dragon with. Riders are immortal like elves. If a rider dies, his dragon will probably die as well and it's the same if the dragon dies. Wizard's Bane is a root that can take someone's magic away forever. The dark elves worship the moon.'

Galbatorix grinned. 'And you said you didn't know anything!'

'Well, I know _some_ things,' Skandar admitted. 'But you told me them in the first place.'

'Oh, but I'm getting forgetful in my old age,' said Galbatorix. 'Remind me. What's the dark elvish name for the crescent moon?'

'Um… the _tharian lleaud?_'

'Correct. Who was the last ruler of the riders?'

'Vrael the elf. His dragon was called Nöst, and you killed him at a place called One-Tree Hill.'

'So I did. What is a Shade?'

'Someone with evil spirits in them,' said Skandar.

'And how do you kill one?'

Skandar paused. 'I don't know.'

Galbatorix drew his dagger. 'You stab him,' he said. 'Right here.' He touched the point to his chest, right over his heart. 'That's the spot. You have to get it right. Getting close enough is nearly impossible, because Shades have extremely powerful magic. When an ordinary magic-user casts spells, he uses up his energy to do it. Too much at once and he faints, or dies. But a Shade doesn't run out for a very, very long time, because a Shade isn't really alive in the first place.'

Skandar thought about it. 'What if you gave them Wizard's Bane?'

'Hmm. I don't know. But Shades don't eat, and it's very, very hard to fool one. I doubt it would work. No, the way to deal with a Shade is to stab them through the heart. D'you think you can remember that?'

'I think so.'

Galbatorix put the dagger back into its sheath. 'Horrible things, Shades. They don't understand pity or mercy or kindness. A Shade would murder a newborn baby and not feel anything at all. They don't eat or sleep or feel pain… they have no heartbeat. And if a Shade really wants to kill you, then there is no chance of escape. If one lets you live, it means they want you for something. And you can bet that won't be something you'll like.'

Skandar shuddered. 'That's horrible.'

'Oh, yes. And the worst part of it is that they're nearly impossible to kill. If you cut a Shade's head off, or shoot it with an arrow – if you destroy it in any way other than stabbing it through the heart, it will always come back. They can rebuild their host body even if it's been burned away to nothing but ashes. Until one of you is dead… they'll just keep coming.'

'There aren't any Shades here, are there?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix sighed. 'I hope not, Skandar. I really, really hope not.'


	6. Whisperings

**Chapter Six**

**Whisperings**

That evening they gathered around the fire to relax and eat. Galbatorix had finally relented and gone into Sealord – though he insisted on going alone. Skade only relented when he used magic to alter his features so he could pass for human, and Skandar had to stay behind in spite of his pleading. Galbatorix returned after an hour or so, with food, new blankets, directions to the dark elvish settlement, and information.

'Look at this,' he said, showing them a strange metal object. It was flat and shaped like a rectangle, but with rounded corners, and was a pale gold colour. Both sides were marked with what appeared to be a runic script, but an unfamiliar one.

'What _is_ it?' said Skade, examining it.

'Money,' said Galbatorix. 'This is what they use for currency here. Apparently it's made from a mixture of gold and silver. I had a hard time getting them to accept Alagaësian coins, but in the end I told them that gold was gold no matter what shape it was in and they gave up.' He sighed and rubbed his head. 'The disguise wore off on the way back, and now I've got an appalling headache.'

Skade was already opening the packages he'd brought back. 'Fish?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'It was all I could really find. I hope you like squid, too. And there's some clams.' He paused, and winced. 'My head feels like it's got a hot sword stuck through it.'

'Lie down for a while,' Skade advised. 'I think it's about time you rested properly.'

'Yes, yes. Also, I found out more about the dark elves. It's not what we thought.'

'How do you mean?' said Skade.

'Well, when I was first told that there were dark elves here I thought that meant there were just a few. There aren't. There's a whole… Kingdom of them living somewhere on the other side of the mountains. A city. Called _Hen Addef_. More than a hundred of them live there, and they trade with the humans who live further South. They're not actually… overlords… the humans… govern themselves. But they're… revered like… the light elves were back h- in Alagaësia.'

'How far away are they?' said Skade.

Galbatorix gestured vaguely at the mountains behind them. 'Other side of those. There's another town… Rivermeet. Then plains… big snowfields, crags, dangerous country. But there's roads through it. We might… find dark elves in Rivermeet. With luck. The mountains of Y Castell are on the far side of the plains. Months to travel on foot. With a dragon… maybe a week or so. After that we pass through Y Castell… and _Hen Addef_ lies beyond.' He was mumbling now, one hand massaging his forehead. 'Gods, I haven't had a headache this bad in… ever.'

Skade passed him a blanket. 'Well, then, our path is set,' she said briskly. 'We know where to go. You get some sleep while I cook this fish.'

Galbatorix took it. 'Well maybe I'll lie down for a while.' But before he did, he cast her an look that said _don't let me sleep._

Skade understood. 'I will watch over you,' she promised.

Galbatorix retreated to the lean-to and curled up in it, covering himself with the blanket. In fact there was little danger of his falling asleep; the pain in his head was too severe to let him relax properly. It was dull and unrelenting, throbbing horribly with every heartbeat. He did his best to keep still, hoping it would settle down.

'_Galbatorix?'_

He rolled onto his side. _'What?'_

'_Why did you lie about having a headache?'_ Laela asked.

Her voice in his head made the pain surge a little. He clutched at it. _'What?'_

'_Come on,'_ said Laela. _'What are you so cranky about?'_

'_Laela, I've got a headache, could you _please_ stop talking?'_

'_Don't think you can pull that one with me,'_ Laela said impatiently. _'You know perfectly well I'd know about it if you were in pain.'_

Galbatorix opened his Shade-eye. _'What? What are you talking about?'_

'_I'm _saying_,' _said Laela, _'That you obviously don't have a headache because you aren't blocking me and I can't feel any pain at all.'_

'_What d'you mean you can't feel it? I haven't had a headache this bad for as long as I can remember!'_

Laela shared a feeling of puzzlement. _'But why can't I feel it too?'_

'_I don't know, but consider yourself lucky.'_

Silence.

'_Look, I don't know why you can't feel it, but I've got no reason to lie,'_ Galbatorix added.

'_That's… odd,'_ said Laela. _'But I believe you. Rest a while. Get some sleep.'_

'_Absolutely not. If you feel me start to nod off, wake me up.'_

'_I'll try-,'_

'_No. Don't try. Just do it. I am not going to risk anything happening.'_

'_All right. I understand. Just rest, then.'_

Laela's voice went silent, and Galbatorix lay and willed the pain to go away. It didn't. If anything, it got worse. He groaned. There was a buzzing in his ears now, too…

The smell of cooking fish reached his nose at this point, and he sat up abruptly and crawled out of the lean-to. Lying around wasn't going to help, that much was clear.

Skade had spitted some fish over the fire, and Skandar was already eating one with some enthusiasm.

'You weren't gone long,' Skade observed.

Galbatorix sat down next to her, cradling his head in his hands. 'Couldn't get comfortable.'

'Here.' Skade took a fish from over the fire and offered it to him. 'Have something to eat.'

He took it gingerly and tasted it. It was a little charred from the fire, but underneath the skin the flesh was white and moist – slightly too hot, but cooked through. It tasted delicious. He ate several mouthfuls, and sighed. 'It's good. Could use a little seasoning, but-,' He stopped and blinked.

Skade watched him frown in puzzlement and put a hand to his forehead. 'What's wrong?'

Galbatorix stared bemusedly at the fish. 'Well that's odd. My head just stopped hurting.'

'That's good,' said Skade. 'Maybe all you needed was something to eat. You haven't been eating enough lately.'

Galbatorix peeled off the rest of the skin and ate some more. Every bite tasted delicious; he could feel it warm him from end to end. It made him feel better, stripping away a weakness and lassitude that he hadn't even known was there. Somehow, he thought, as he finished the last of it and picked the bones out from between his teeth, it made him feel more…

…_human_.

He took a second fish, and once he'd eaten that too he lay back with his head on his arms and looked up at the sky, humming a cheerful tune. 'That,' he said, 'Was the best meal I've had in years.'

Skade grinned. 'You'll probably believe that even more once you've tried the squid tomorrow.'

He chuckled. 'I have every faith in you, Skade.'

'What d'you mean, _me?'_ said Skade, with pretended indignation. 'You're doing the cooking tomorrow, thankyou very much.'

'Well in that case, I have every faith in _me_,' said Galbatorix.

'I could do it,' Skandar offered.

Galbatorix turned his head to look at him. 'Why, d'you really want to?'

'It doesn't look that hard to _me,'_ said Skandar.

Galbatorix smiled. 'Well, I don't see any problem with it. If you want to, go ahead. Far too many men think they're above learning how to cook. They seem to think there'll always be a woman around to do it for them. Lazy bastards.'

'I bet you didn't cook for yourself when you were King,' said Skandar.

Galbatorix paused. 'Well… no. I had servants for that. But that wasn't because I was lazy,' he added hastily. 'I was just busy. Running an Empire takes a lot of work. I used to miss meals because I had so much paperwork to deal with.'

'_Paperwork?'_ said Skandar.

'Of course. I spent the best part of a hundred years handling pieces of paper. Taxes, accounts, edicts, decrees, reports… it was never ending. Why, what did you think a King does all day?'

Skandar looked bemused. 'I don't know. Tells people what to do?'

'Exactly. And you do that by writing it down and then giving it to an official and telling him to see to it. I'm afraid Kingship isn't as glamorous and exciting as people think. Most of the time, it's very, very boring.'

'But you were King,' said Skandar. 'Couldn't you just make someone else do it for you?'

'I could have, but I wanted to look after things myself. What else was I good for? I built the Empire, and the people I ruled were counting on me to make their lives safe and comfortable, so that's what I did.'

'And we all know just how much gratitude you got,' Skade muttered.

Skandar listened. 'I think I understand. Did you have a crown?'

'Yes. I didn't wear it much, though.'

'Why?'

Galbatorix yawned. 'Because I thought it made me look like an idiot, actually. Also, it messed up my hair.'

Skade laughed.

Galbatorix gave her a reproachful look. 'What? There's no shame in taking care of one's hair, all right? But, look…' he sat up, and reached into his robe. 'If you don't believe me, look at this.'

The crown gleamed silver in the firelight as he pulled it out. It was a thin, plain band with a tapered bend in it intended to extend down over the forehead a short way, a little like the noseguard on a helmet, but triangular and set with a single ice-blue stone.

Skandar gaped at it. 'It's-!'

Galbatorix gave it to him. 'Here.'

Skandar took it, almost reverentially, turning it over in his hands. His claws clicked softly on the metal. 'Is this really a crown?'

'Of course it is. Every King needs one, you know.'

'It's beautiful!'

'It's dark elvish. A dark elvish _torix_,' said Galbatorix. 'Once it belonged to Queen Saethryn, the last ruler of our race. She gave it to me shortly before she died, and I kept it safe until the day I was crowned King.' He smiled. 'People were rather surprised the night before the ceremony when I suddenly pulled that out of my bag. They were all wondering where we were going to get a crown from at short notice, and I said; "Well, as it happens, I've brought my own".'

Skandar was examining the band. 'What do these markings mean?'

'They're runes,' said Galbatorix. 'They say _achos 'r 'n fwyaf chan pawb gwasanaethwyr_.' The dark elvish words rolled easily off his tongue. 'That means "for the greatest of all servants", because a King is just a servant to his people. Of course, not all of them know it.'

'Can I put it on?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix nodded. 'It's not magical or anything.'

Skandar carefully lowered the crown onto his own head, turning it so that the tapered point was over his forehead. It was a little too big, but still contrived to make him look rather impressive. He grinned proudly. 'Do I look like a King?'

Galbatorix, watching him, suddenly felt a little chill at his heart.

He nodded anyway. 'Every inch a King.'

The moon rose over the camp. Galbatorix watched it appear over the horizon. It was still a crescent. Impulsively, he turned to face it, clasping his hands under his chin, and began to speak. '_'N fawr achlesydd, blesio chyfnertha 'm a arwain 'm, Cardota achubi 'm chan hon felltithia a achlesa 'm caredig hunau i mewn 'r enwa chan gras a achubiaeth_.' His voice was low and fervent, full of reverence and, beneath that, pleading.

'Father? What are you doing?'

Galbatorix looked around, the moment broken. Skandar was watching him curiously, and he sighed and turned away from the moon. 'I was praying.'

'To the moon?'

'Yes. The moon is the only god I have ever had. I like to think I believe in it.'

Skandar looked at it. 'It's beautiful,' he said. 'I've always thought that, you know. I like it better than the sun.'

'The moon watches over all dark elves,' said Galbatorix. 'And since your father is one, that would make you one as well. You have a dark elvish name, at least. And dark elvish eyes. I don't know if…' he trailed off, looking at the sky and the white crescent once again. The sight of it gave him comfort. 'If you ever feel lost and uncertain, turn to the moon,' he said impulsively. 'Pray to it, ask it for help and protection. It's your guardian.'

'It's nonsense,' said Skade, but without much emphasis.

Galbatorix glanced at her, and smiled. 'Dragons don't have gods. They tend to think the whole idea is for the feeble-minded. But-,' he shrugged, 'I asked the moon to bring Skade back to me, and she came. Maybe it means something.'

'Yes, that's right,' Skade muttered. '_I_ certainly had nothing to do with it.'

Skandar laughed, but his look toward his father was quite serious. 'Will you teach me how to pray to it?'

'If you want me to.' Galbatorix turned toward the moon, motioning for Skandar to do the same. 'Dark elvish worship is a private thing,' he explained. 'We had priests, but every dark elf had his own relationship with the moon. So praying is done however you choose to do it. I prefer to bow my head, but you can look up if you prefer. It's all up to you.'

'Yes, but what do you say?' said Skandar.

'Whatever is in your heart. Your fears, your hopes… the truth. But there's a simple prayer I know that many dark elves use. Listen carefully.'

Skandar nodded silently.

Galbatorix paused to remember. '_'N befr leuad, Dwi dywyllwch choblyn, 'r cenedl ar a 'ch 'n fawr chyneua ddisgleiriedig a 'n ddedwydd am 'r yn dechrau chan 'r byd. Anrhega 'm enaid atat , a 'm ddefosiwn. Achlesa 'm a chymhorthdal 'm hiachâd a ffyniant , a Anrhydedda 'ch pawb 'm ddiwrnodau._'

Skandar looked nervous. 'Um… '_N befr leuad, Dwi dy…w… lich…?_'

Galbatorix grinned. 'Sorry. That was probably a little long. I'll translante it for you. In the common tongue, it's "bright moon, I am a dark elf, the race upon whom your great light shone and blessed at the beginning of the world. I give my soul to you, and my devotion. Protect me and grant me health and prosperity, and I will honour you all my days". Can you remember that?'

Skandar tried it, and got quite a long way before his memory faltered. Galbatorix helped him repeat it several times until he had it committed to memory, and when they were done he said; 'There! Your first prayer. But it doesn't mean anything unless you truly believe it. Not that it matters much. Repeating other people's prayers can only take you so far. The most powerful prayers are always the ones you make for yourself. Remember that. It's the only thing you really need to know about praying.'

'I want to speak dark elvish,' said Skandar.

Galbatorix sighed and settled back with his face toward the fire. 'So do I.'

Skandar gave him an odd look. 'But you already do, don't you?'

Galbatorix scratched his nose. 'I don't speak it as well as I'd like to. I was only with the dark elves for a few months – nowhere near long enough to learn the entire langugage. If I ever met another dark elf again, we'd probably be barely able to understand one another. I can teach you a few phrases, but that's about it.'

Skandar grinned. 'Mother said you mostly speak it when you're angry.'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'She wasn't wrong. I know some very impressive dark elvish swearwords. I remember I lost my temper once in the middle of some tedious meeting back in my old court, and let loose with a few colourful phrases. It scared the life out of the officials who heard me. They thought I was putting a curse on them or something.'

'Teach me!' said Skandar.

'Well, I-,' Galbatorix paused and glanced over his shoulder. He frowned and shook his head. 'I don't see why not.'

'I don't think that's a very good idea,' Skade put in.

'Why not?' Galbatorix asked mildly.

'Well, when we find the dark elves, I doubt they'll be impressed when they find out that you taught him their rudest words first.'

'I wouldn't say them in front of them!' Skandar protest. 'I'm not stupid, you know.'

'Of course not,' said Galbatorix. 'You're-,' he stopped again, his expression puzzled.

'What's wrong?' said Skade.

'Shh!' Galbatorix held up a hand to silence her, and she, Skandar and Laela watched curiously as he cocked his head, apparently listening to something. He frowned and looked at them. 'Can you hear that?'

Skade listened intently. There were the sounds of insects chirping, and the faint rustling of leaves, but nothing out of the ordinary. 'I don't know. What does it sound like?'

'Sort of like…' Galbatorix paused, and then shook his head. 'It doesn't matter. It's gone now.'

Skandar yawned. 'I'm tired. I should probably go to sleep now.'

'Good idea,' said Skade. 'We've got more flying ahead of us tomorrow.'

Skandar nodded vaguely and retreated into the lean-to.

'You should probably join him, Skade,' said Galbatorix. 'You look tired.'

She shook her head and moved closer to him. 'I'm going to stay up with you.'

'Well, that's kind of you, but-,'

'It isn't any trouble,' Skade said softly. 'I just don't like the idea of you sitting out here on your own all night.'

'_Neither do I,'_ said Laela. _'We'll both stay with you.'_

Galbatorix smiled. 'Well, if you want to, I won't try and stop you. I was just going to work on my book for a while.' He opened the bag beside him and took out a large square parcel wrapped in cloth, along with a small leather tube. He unwrapped the parcel, revealing a thick leather-bound book.

Skade watched him turn the pages. They were covered in endless lines of meticulous script. 'How close are you to finishing it?'

'Getting there. I'm still writing about the war with the Varden.' He turned a page toward the end of the book, revealing the place where he had left off. 'Hmm. Not many pages left. I hope I don't run out.' He picked up the leather tube and opened it, almost reverentially. There were several quills inside, along with some bottles of ink. He selected a quill and uncorked one. Then he glanced up at Skade. 'Would you prefer if I did this later?'

'No, I'm fine,' said Skade.

Galbatorix paused for a while, reading over the last page and collecting his thoughts. Then he dipped the quill in the ink and began.

There was no sound but for the soft scratching of the quill, and the normal noises of a nighttime forest, mingled with Laela's deep, rumbling breaths. Absolute peace.

'Galbatorix?'

The quill paused. 'Hmm?'

'How did you feel today? Better?'

'About the same as usual. I honestly feel quite normal most of the time. Except sometimes I feel a little bit… cold.'

'I think we've _all_ been feeling that,' said Skade.

'No, I don't mean like that,' said Galbatorix. 'I mean that I feel as if there's a coldness… _inside._ It's a bit hard to explain. Probably doesn't matter.'

The Shade-eye had opened while he was talking. Skade shivered. 'I hate that eye.'

He closed it again hastily. 'Sorry. It can see in the dark, that's all. It's useful.'

'Maybe, but I still hate it. It's not just the colour, you know. It doesn't… well it's not _your_ eye. The look in it's all wrong. Like there's someone on the other side, and it's not you.'

'I know, Skade. I've looked at it myself. The reflection, I mean. It makes me feel… contaminated.'

'You shouldn't have let Durza into your mind,' said Skade.

'Yes, I know that as well. It was a calculated risk. I was too weak to fight him physically, and I knew that even if I came close to winning I'd be cut down from behind. Tricking him looked like a much better course of action. And besides…'

'What?' said Skade.

He looked at her. 'I'd been having premonitions. You know I have the seer's blood, Skade. I knew I was going to die, and soon. I wanted to take him down with me no matter what the cost. I decided that if I didn't have the strength to fight off his control over me, I could probably delay him long enough for someone to finish us both off. I knew there would be someone there who could do it, and finish the job if I failed.'

'No,' Skade said sharply. 'I would never have done that. No matter what.'

'I wasn't talking about you,' said Galbatorix. 'I was talking about the Brat. He'd be back under his own control once Durza left him, and he'd see his worst enemy right there in front of him, unable to fight back. He would have been more than willing to stab me through the heart if he got the chance.'

Skade nodded. 'I suppose that does make sense. But you still shouldn't have done it. What did you think would happen afterwards?'

'I didn't believe there was going to _be_ an afterwards, Skade, that's the point. I was due to die. What did it matter if I died with a Shade stuck inside my head?' he sighed and fiddled with the quill. 'Unforseen consequences, that's the problem. I can never seem to rely on these premonitions of mine. I'm not a proper seer and I don't usually know how to interpret what I see. And the odd thing, is…'

'What?' said Skade.

Galbatorix paused. 'Never mind.' He shook his head when Skade persisted, and went back to his writing.

'I don't know why you're doing that,' said Skade.

'I'm forgetting it, Skade,' said Galbatorix. 'Do you know, I've read over some of the earlier parts of this book and found I didn't recognise whole chunks of it? I can't remember the names of my foster parents any more. I remind myself by going back and checking, but then I forget it again. It just slips out of my mind. I've been working on this book a lot lately. I write more of it most nights. If I don't write it all down before it's too late, how will I ever know it was all real?'

'And I suppose one day maybe people will want to read it,' Skade admitted.

'Possibly. It's rather dry, though. I'm not very good at this sort of thing.'

Laela gave a dragonish chuckle. _'That's very true. Do you remember when you were in Ellesméra and you tried writing poetry? You got very cranky when it wouldn't work and shouted about how only complete idiots would waste their time with that kind of wishy-washy nonsense.'_

Galbatorix paused. _'No,'_ he said slowly. _'I… don't think I do.'_

'_Well, you did,'_ said Laela. _'For myself I thought it was hilarious. I didn't tell you at the time; you were in a foul mood.'_

Galbatorix sighed. 'I should be writing those things down in here,' he said aloud. 'I've put in too many dry facts and figures… but it's things like that that matter the most, isn't it?'

'_Yes,'_ Laela said softly.

Skade nodded. 'They are. They're facts of the heart.'

Another sigh. 'Yes. I'm just no good at writing about it, that's the problem. Nothing I write ever has any emotion in it. It's always just… words.'

'_Too much paperwork,'_ Laela said wisely.

The moon was directly overhead now. Midnight. There was an icy chill in the air, and wisps of grey cloud drifting over the sky threatened snow. Skade had fallen asleep, her head resting on Galbatorix's shoulder. Laela too had dozed off.

Galbatorix's fingers had become too numb from the cold to grip the quill properly, and he put it away along with the ink, leaving the book open so the fresh writing on its pages could dry. His breath was misting in the cold air, and he tucked his hands into his sleeves to keep them warm. Even the fire didn't seem to be doing too much to help right now.

He sighed. The temptation to curl up with Skade and go to sleep was powerful, even though he didn't feel fatigued. His bad leg was aching a little, but not too badly, but other than that he felt fine.

At least… he _thought_ he felt fine. He'd been thinking it for a long time, but somehow some part of him knew that wasn't true. It wasn't anything specific, just a vague sense of unease that had been troubling him for a long time. A coldness.

_I shouldn't be alive,_ he thought.

He should have died a very long time ago. He should have died a hundred times. And cheating death did not come without consequences. The magic that had saved him countless times was gone now; he was no longer unkillable. The next mortal wound he took would kill him, and this time there would be no second chances.

Suddenly, the emptiness of the night felt oppressive. He moved a little closer to Skade, nestling against her. She sighed in her sleep and settled down against him, her warm breath on his cheek. But, somehow, even when she was so close, he did not feel as if he were truly with her. The coldness inside him was still there, and it made him feel alone, and afraid.

His head was starting to ache again. He groaned softly. If this kept up, he was going to have to make some kind of herbal remedy for it – assuming he could find the proper ingredients on this continent.

The pain increased steadily. As it built, he began to hear a buzzing in his ears again.

And then – very softly at first, so softly that he didn't notice it immediately – he began to hear something else. It was the same thing he'd heard before, just briefly. Now, in the silence, it was much easier to detect. He sat very still and listened to it, puzzled.

The sound was odd, and yet vaguely familiar – like something he'd heard in a dream long ago. It was a low, muted kind of _murmuring,_ a little like the sound of someone humming in the next room. Occasionally it rose a little, its pitch varying every so often.

Perhaps it was the call of some night-bird.

The pain increased as the noise got louder. It was more distinct now, though he still had to strain his ears to pick it up at all. But it felt almost irrelevant next to the throbbing in his head.

Tired anger started to build in his chest. Wasn't it enough that he couldn't sleep any more without having to put up with this sort of thing as well? Was this some kind of sick joke? He'd had enough of this. Pain, fear, worry, danger… why wouldn't it ever leave him alone? Why did suffering of one kind or another insist on chasing him no matter where he went or what he did? He had a sudden, wild temptation to break something or to yell, but he was too miserable to act on it. And besides, he didn't want to wake the others.

Without warning, the murmuring stopped. The pain, however, stayed.

Galbatorix sighed. Well, at least the noise was gone. That was a small improvement.

And then he realised that there was something wrong. It wasn't the pain. It was a feeling. He blinked, confused.

There was a coldness inside him. Not just a vague sensation, but something tangible and real, and unsettling. And the feeling of wrongness – of there being something not quite right in his mind and body – rose up inside him and became something powerful and frightening. A sickening bewilderment flooded into his mind. For a few seconds, he found himself staring at his hands and down at his body, not knowing what they were or why he had them or who he was. After that came the fear. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had come to be there. He felt cut off from everyhing – lost in a place of which he had no comprehension, a million miles away from everything he knew. He felt blind, blind all over.

The feeling passed after a few moments, but as he started to calm down, he heard something. Not something vague or distant, not something he could not identify. He knew this. It was familiar. He'd heard it hundreds of times. But it was something he should not be hearing any more, not ever again, not here, not now…

_Hello, Sire,_ Durza's voice whispered.


	7. The Plains

**Chapter Seven**

**The Plains**

Skandar had bad dreams that night. They weren't quite bad enough to wake him up, but just bad enough to make his sleep shallow and disturbed. He woke up early the next morning with a feeling of deep unease. He was cold, too. His blankets had fallen off during the night. His upper back was aching, too.

He shivered and groped for the blankets, and then suddenly realised what else was wrong. There was no-one else in the lean-to. Panic shot through him, and he scrambled out into the open in a split second.

'Mother! Father!'

He stopped, and breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't gone. They were both there by the fire with Laela, large as life. His mother was sleepily eating an apple, and his father was sitting hunched by Laela's flank and staring into the fire. They looked up at the sound of his voice.

'Yes, Skandar?' said Skade. 'What's wrong?'

Skandar sighed and went to her. 'I had a bad dream.'

She put an arm around his shoulders. 'I'm sorry. I should've told you I was going to sit out here all night, but I didn't think of it. Here, have something to eat. We've got to leave soon, so we can make it over the mountains by tonight.'

Skandar scowled. 'I'm tired of travelling. Can't we just stay here for a while?'

'No. I'm sorry, Skandar, but we have to get to the dark elves.'

'Why?' said Skandar.

Skade hesitated. 'Don't you want to see them?'

'I suppose so, but why do we have to go so fast?'

Galbatorix looked up. 'Because they can help us,' he mumbled. He was pale and haggard, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Skandar thought he looked very ill.

'Do we really need help?' he asked doubtfully.

'Yes,' said Skade. 'We need a home. We can't live with humans because we're not human, but the dark elves will take us in.' She glanced at Galbatorix. 'At least, your father believes they will.'

Skandar watched his father with concern. 'What's wrong, Father?'

'He's got another headache,' Skade said, keeping her voice low. 'I'd leave him alone for now if I were you.'

'Oh. All right.'

Galbatorix remained silent and uncommunicative for the rest of that day. They ate, packed up the camp and got on Laela's back again, and the white dragon flew up and over the mountains. The journey resumed yet again, but the magic had gone out of it for Skandar. He was in too bad a mood to care about the fact that they were in a new country; all he was aware of now was the cold and the dirt ingrained into his white robe, and the irritable look about both of his parents. It made him feel lonely and fed up, and he didn't try and talk to them while they soared over the snow-capped mountains.

'_Skandar?'_

Skandar started slightly. _'Laela?'_

The white dragon had made tentative mental contact with him. _'I hope you don't mind. I wanted someone to talk to.'_

'_It's all right,'_ said Skandar. _'I'm bored. How far is it to the dark elves, anyway?'_

'_Not too far.'_

'_Will we get there today?'_

'_I wish, but no. It'll be a few days. I'm not sure how many. We're just going to… dear gods in a tree, will you look at that?'_

'_Look at what?'_ said Skandar.

'_This,' _said Laela, and sent him a mental image.

She'd done this a few times before. Skandar examinined the image, and realised that it was of the landscape as she saw it. Ahead the mountains came to an end, and beyond them were the plains. He'd never seen anything like them in his life.

They stretched out toward the horizon, big and wild and rugged. Rather than being flat, they were covered in patches of forest and jagged rock formations, and most of it was coated in snow.

'_Oh my gods,'_ he mumbled. _'They're bloody huge!'_

Laela gave a mental grin. _'You sounded just like your father when you said that. Yes, they're big all right. Not what I expected at all.'_

'_What did you think they were going to be like?'_ said Skandar.

'_I thought they'd be more… well, inhabited. I thought there'd be farms and villages everywhere, but I can't see any signs of civilisation so far.'_ She heaved a great sigh that was just audible over the sound of the wind. _'Looks like we're going to have to do some more camping along the way.'_

'_I'm tired of travelling,'_ Skandar complained. _'When can we just stop?'_

'_Once we get to the dark elvish city.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

'_Yes. Because when we get there I'm going to sit down and refuse to fly any further.'_

Skandar grinned. _'You're funny. I like you, Laela.'_

She shared a feeling of affection. _'I like you too, Skandar. You remind me a lot of your father, you know. The way he was before.'_

'_Before what?'_

Laela paused. _'Before things changed. When he was still innocent. When bad things happen to people, they change. They don't smile so much, and they don't feel happiness as often.'_

'_That's horrible.'_

'_In a way. But we shouldn't try and stay innocent forever. Everyone has to grow up. Because when you feel happy less often… when you do feel it, you feel it all the stronger.'_

'_I don't want anything bad to happen to me,'_ said Skandar. _'But I'm scared that something might.'_

'_Don't worry,'_ said Laela. _'I'll protect you, and so will your father. He's stronger than he looks.'_

'_And Mother too?'_

'_Oh yes. She's the only person I know who can argue with your father and get away with it. Besides myself. We're the only people who could ever make him change his mind about anything. He's very stubborn, your father. Always has been.'_ She chuckled. _'I remember how cranky he used to get when people tried to make him do things he didn't want to. The light elves tried to make him become vegetarian, but he went and kept on eating meat in secret.'_

Skandar was puzzled. _'Why would they want to make him do anything?'_

'_He was trained by them,'_ said Laela. _'All riders were. The light elves made all human riders adopt their ways. Human riders weren't even allowed to wear beards, if they were men, or marry, or eat meat. In fact, the ceremony to induct a new rider into the order included casting a spell over the human ones, that would make them look like elves as well. Your father was the only one who fought back, because he wanted to stay human.'_

Skandar felt a little glow of pride. _'I would've fought back too.'_

'_I'm sure you would have. Your father fought a war rather than submit to light elvish tyranny. When we're on the ground again, look closely at him. Look at his ears. Then you'll know how much he wanted to stay human.'_

'_I will.'_

They were silent for a while.

'_Laela?'_

'_Yes, Skandar?'_

'_What do dreams mean?'_

'_I don't understand,'_ said Laela.

'_I mean can they ever be real and not just dreams?'_ said Skandar.

Laela hesitated. _'Why do you ask, Skandar?'_

'_It's just that I had a dream last night,'_ said Skandar. _'And… I thought it was real. It was horrible.'_

'_A nightmare? Well, that's nothing to be worried about. Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. What happened in it?'_

'_I dreamed that I was with Mother and Father and we were walking somewhere together, and then they just disappeared and I was all alone. And then I woke up and they weren't there, and…'_ Skandar trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. _'I suppose that sounds silly.'_

'_No it doesn't. But you shouldn't worry about it. It's just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you.'_

'_But Father said sometimes they have warnings in them. Like someone's trying to tell you something. What if my dream was a message?'_

'_I doubt it, Skandar.'_

'_But what if it was and something awful happens?'_

'_Look, Skandar… I won't let anything bad happen to you. We're all here to protect you.'_

'_Yes. I know you are.'_

'_Then there's nothing to worry about.'_

Skandar sighed. Laela's gentle voice made him feel better. She was right. It had just been a dream.

They camped that night on the far side of the mountains, some way into the plains. It was much colder here, and there was a thin layer of snow everywhere. They built another lean-to, and Laela curled herself around it to protect it from the wind. This time when Skandar went into it to sleep, Skade went with him. She asked Galbatorix to join them, but he silently shook his head and stayed where he was by the fire. Skade persisted, but not for very long. He obviously wasn't in the mood for an argument. Skandar had noticed how miserable he looked. If anything, he now looked worse than he had done the night before. He'd barely said anything, and kept wincing and touching his forehead. Skade had been watching him with a worried look, but hadn't tried to speak to him much. His Shade-eye kept opening itself, and it made them all slightly nervous.

Skandar went to sleep in darkness, nestled against his mother's warm body. For a while there was nothing but the drowsy silence that preceded sleep, and then…

…the dream.

He was walking through a snowy forest, like the ones he had seen back in the Northlands. Laela was flying overhead, and his parents were walking on either side of him. They were close; so close he could feel their warmth, and hear their hearts beating. They were going somewhere. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go. But he knew he had to. He had to go where they were going.

But as he walked, he stumbled suddenly. There was pain, pain in his back and arms, and his head.

_Hurry up, Skandar,_ his father called. _We have to be there soon._

He tried to stand up straight and walk, not wanting to disappoint him, but the pain would not let him. It was making him stumble, slowing him down, and they were leaving him behind. He tried to call after them, to tell them not to go, but his voice came out as a horrible grunting, rasping noise that had no words in it. He was forgetting how to talk.

His back hurt. The skin was tearing apart. He felt it open wide, like a mouth, and something came out. Something huge and dark, covered in blood and flesh.

He felt the shadow of it fall over him, and looked back. His heart beat fast.

Wings! Huge, wide wings, sprouting from his back. They were beating at the air of their own accord, and they looked like dark storm-clouds.

_Skandar!_

His parents were there, clutching at his hands, their faces full of sudden fear.

_Skandar! Come back! Don't fly away!_

But the wings continued to beat, dragging him away from them. Their hands slipped away from his, and then they were gone, fading away as if they had never existed, and he was alone on an endless white plain, lost in the cold and the dark. He called for them, screaming their names into the emptiness, but there was no answer, and he cursed at the wings and tried to tear them away from his back. But no matter how hard he pulled, no matter how many times he destroyed them, they always came back.

He was woken up the next morning by the shouting.

Fright seized hold of him. He didn't dare move, but lay very still in the lean-to and listened, his heart pattering.

'-Look, I told you, _I don't know.'_ This was his father's voice, loud and angry.

'Don't you dare talk to me like that!' His mother. 'It's not my fault! You got yourself into this mess, you idiot, not me. _I _was the one who said we should leave well enough alone. Why should we have interfered? It was out of our hands! Fighting for people who didn't trust us – who tried to _kill_ us, for gods' sakes!'

'I'm sorry, Skade, but I don't see it that way. I did what I had to do. And I know it's not your fault. And I'm sorry I didn't say something earlier, but there was nothing you could have done then, or now. I have to fight this on my own.'

'You're doing it again!'

'Doing what?'

'Trying to be noble!' Skade's voice was getting louder. 'You keep on doing this! Hiding things away! Refusing to let other people help you! Trying to do everything on your own, even if your _life_ is in danger, not to mention other peoples'!'

'Skade, I can do this. It's not affecting me that badly, I'm not having to do anything except stay awake. All right? That's it. He's not doing anything except talk. He _can't_ do anything but that. He's been permanently crippled, he's got no magic. I swear, there's no danger for you or Skandar, or Laela.'

'Oh? And can you promise that? How do you know he's not going to get any stronger? Well? Because the last I heard he wasn't talking, but now he suddenly is. Why? Did it just suddenly start happening, or was that something else you didn't see fit to tell me?'

'I did _not –_ no. I didn't hide that from you, it only started happening yesterday night. I don't know why, it was probably the headache wearing me down or something. I can handle it. And stop shouting. You're going to wake up Skandar.'

'Yes, and what about Skandar? You can't keep doing this to him. He's too young to keep travelling like this. Bad food, no proper shelter… for gods' sakes, he's only ten! At this rate he'll get sick, or hurt, or freeze to death. Have you thought of that?'

'I brought him out here to protect him!'

'From what? There's no-one trying to kill him, or any of us! We were perfectly safe back in Alagaësia.'

'What, with my mortal enemies running the country? Skade, you _know_ what he is. He's the only weredragon still living anywhere in the world, and do you know why? The riders hunted down and slaughtered the rest of them, that's why! Just like they did to all those other races they didn't approve of.'

'It's not like that any more! They're under my father's control now, and he'd never let them do anything like that!'

'Are you sure?'

There was a brief silence, and then a sharp, flat sound and a yelp from Galbatorix.

'Don't you _dare_ say that,' Skade snarled. 'He's my father. He wouldn't let anything happen to his own grandson, and you know it. You should have let us stay there. The riders could have helped you.'

'What, me? You think they'd help _me?_'

'If my father ordered them to.'

'Oh yes. I'm sure they would. And I'm sure they'd all have been terribly upset if something _tragically_ went wrong and I died.'

'Galbatorix.' Skade's voice had softened. 'Please. I love you, and I don't want anything to happen to you.'

'Neither do I. And that's why we have to get to _Hen Addef_ as soon as we can. We made good progress yesterday, and I could see some more mountains on the horizon just before we landed. I'm sure they're the Y Castells. They've got to be.'

There was a sound of exasperation from Skade. 'Those dark elves again! How do you know they even exist? How do you know they'll welcome you?'

'Why wouldn't they? I'm one of their people.'

'These aren't Alagaësian dark elves. They'll be different. They won't know about you.'

'But there's no reason why they'd be hostile, is there?'

'We don't know that. I just don't see why they'd welcome three outsiders with open arms just because… well, I just don't know. But I'm worried that you're putting too much faith in them.'

'But they're dark elves, Skade! Don't you understand? My own people! They can help me go back to how I used to be, and we can live with them. Skandar can grow up with his own race, learn the things I never had time to learn. It'll be the perfect home for him. And you and I can grow old together in peace, with him and Laela. Imagine that, Skade. A real dark elvish city.'

Skade sighed. 'I don't know…'

'But it's got to be worth a try, hasn't it? And there's nowhere else we can go. We can be there in a few days. It'll be all right.'

'I suppose you're right. But you tell me if anything more happens, understand? And that's not a request. Because I swear to gods that the next time you hide something from me, I'll-,' she switched to another language, which Skandar didn't understand, but the words sounded distinctly menacing.

'Y-es,' Galbatorix said slowly when she was done. 'I think I can grasp that.'

'Good. Because I can't break oaths like you can.'

'Yes, yes, point taken. Anyway, we'd better get going. I'll go and wake Skandar-,'

'Absolutely not. You're going to let him sleep for as long as he needs to or I'm going to stick my claws in your neck.'

'Very funny.'

'I mean it!'

A pause.

'Fine,' Galbatorix snapped. 'I'm going for a walk. Or perhaps I should call it a limp.'

'Don't go too far-,'

'I don't think I'm capable of that any more, thankyou.'

And then there was silence again, broken only by the faint crunch of retreating footsteps.

Skandar stayed where he was, by now very wide awake, disturbed by fear and also by a strange sense of guilt. They'd been arguing about him, though he wasn't sure why. And there was something wrong with his father. He'd some something that his mother didn't like… made her angry with him. But what?

Skandar dug his claws into his palms. He'd never seen his parents really angry with each other before. Sometimes they argued, but he'd never heard them shout like that. As if they hated each other.

_Do something!_ he whispered to himself.

Very reluctantly, he crawled out of the lean-to and peeked out at the campsite. Skade was pacing back and forth around the fire, her shoulders hunched. She had a predatory look about her that Skandar didn't like, and he hadn't forgotten how frightening she could be when she was angry. Laela was there too, not far away from the lean-to, watching the retreating figure of Galbatorix but making no move to follow him.

Skandar made a quick decision and slipped out of the lean-to once Skade's back was to him. He hid behind it, and then dashed off into the surrounding trees. Once he was sure he was invisible from the campsite, he skirted around it and headed in the direction he thought Galbatorix had gone in, intent on catching up with him.

The ground was wet and slippery underfoot, thanks to the snow, but Skandar was used to walking on snow. He moved at a near-run, not thinking of anything but finding his father.

There was no sign of him among the trees, and Skandar suddenly began to be afraid. What if he'd left? What if he wasn't coming back? And it would be all his fault…

He broke into a run. 'Father! Father, where are you?'

Nothing. He stopped and looked back. The camp had disappeared somewhere among the trees, and he was alone.

Skandar's resolve hardened abruptly, and he turned and ran on. The landscape was rough among the trees; there were rocks buried in the snow, and logs and tree-stumps and hidden holes. Several times he nearly fell over, but his boots, made for just these kinds of conditions, helped him keep his balance on the snow and the mud beneath it.

'_Father!_'

No reply. But when he stopped to listen, he thought he could hear the sound of footsteps not far away. He headed toward them, silent now, intent on catching them. Yes… definitely footsteps. They were soft, but rapid and definite. He could catch up with them.

He followed them for several minutes, watching for the dark figure of Galbatorix among the trees. The footsteps were heading away from him.

He sniffed the air – his sense of smell was quite strong. But the wind was blowing away from him, and toward the footsteps. Perhaps if he was a little closer…

Skandar paused by a tree to rest, and the thought suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea where he was. That gave him a little thrill of fear, but he dismissed it. All he had to do was find his father, and he'd show him the way back. Simple. Maybe he was watching him even now, playing tricks on him like he'd done before.

No. The footsteps were too far away for that.

Skandar grinned slyly to himself. If he was careful, maybe _he_ could do the sneaking up this time. He'd show his father that he could hide too if he wanted to do it. That would cheer him up, definitely.

With this idea in mind, he moved on in the direction of the footsteps, placing each boot carefully as his father had taught him so that they would make as little noise as possible. He was getting closer now. The footsteps had slowed down. Then they suddenly turned and began coming toward him.

Skandar hesitated a moment, and then hid behind a tree, peering out to try and catch a glimpse of what was coming. Then he pulled himself together. There was nothing to be frightened of. _I'm Galbatorix's son,_ he reminded himself. _I'm strong._

As the footsteps drew closer, he finally picked up a scent. That was when he began to feel uncertain.

The scent was strange. It was heavy and musky – a furry kind of scent. Not human, or dragon. It smelled like something big.

Skandar stepped out into the open and stared straight ahead, at the trees. He could hear the footsteps properly now. They were slow and shuffling, mingled with a faint scratching sound and a kind of… snuffling. They weren't his father's at all.

The thing finally appeared, shoving its way through a thicket. It was a huge, shaggy beast, four-legged but nearly as tall at the shoulders as he was. Its head was low-slung and heavy, with a thick muzzle and small, round ears. The paws resting on the ground beneath it had long, curved claws – like a dragon's claws, but small. No. Not small. Not small at all, Skandar thought. They were about as long as his fingers, and sharp.

Skandar stood there uncertainly. He'd never seen anything like this before.

The animal was quick to notice him. It paused, lifting its muzzle. Its eyes, small and black, peered short-sightedly at him.

For a few moments, the two of them simply stood and regarded each other.

'Hello,' Skandar said at last, rather stupidly. But maybe it was intelligent, like Laela.

The animal began to growl, very softly.

'It's all right,' Skandar added, backing away. 'I'm not dangerous.'

It was at this point that the animal apparently made up its mind. It started to advance on him. Skandar stepped backward, not wanting to look away from it. His heel caught on a rock and he fell over, landing painfully on his backside, and before he could get up the beast was on him.

Skandar lay very still, the snow soaking into his robe, while it sniffed at him. Its big, wet nose quivered slightly, brushing against his face. He could smell its hot breath. And, when it opened its mouth slightly, he saw its jagged yellow teeth.

He started to tremble, very slightly, but made no move. The thing wasn't attacking…

The animal bit. Its teeth snagged in his robe, and it tugged at the thick cloth. Gently at first, but then harder. When Skandar tried to pull away, it redoubled its grip and began to drag him away.

'Hey!' Skandar cried. 'Stop that!'

The animal stopped and growled at him, baring its teeth. Skandar's nerve finally broke and he lashed out with his claws, leaving a row of deep scratches across the thing's snout.

The animal let go instantly, its growl suddenly breaking into a loud and guttural snarl.

Skandar scrambled upright. As if that were a signal, the animal reared up onto its hind legs. Its huge bulk unfolded, taller than a man and three times as bulky, the mouth wide open, massive forepaws raised. It bellowed and lunged at him.

Skandar dodged, and the creature landed back on its forepaws with an almighty thud. But it swung around in a split second and came after him, snarling. Skandar tried to avoid it, but the thing was shockingly fast for its size. In an instant it cornered him against a tree, and then…

Everything turned red for a moment, and then he was falling sideways. He hit the ground in an explosion of pain that knocked all the breath out of him, and then he was lying there, winded, something hot running down his side, gasping in shock and pain.

The animal was there, bearing down on him with its mouth open. He was going to die.

Skandar never really knew how it all happened. But in that moment as he lay there, his ears full of the beast's snarling, his side a mass of pain, something happened inside him. Without a second's thought he wrenched himself up, gathered his legs beneath him, and leapt. He hurled himself at the animal, unaware of any danger, or fear. All there was was pain, and rage. A rage unlike anything he had ever felt before. Red, dark and terrible.

If the animal hurt him, if its claws made contact with his body, or its teeth, he felt nothing. He tore at it with his own claws, his own teeth biting down through thick fur and skin and into the muscle beneath until his mouth filled with hot blood. He could hear a roaring somewhere – a fierce, ancient roaring that was not for the animal but was for him, belonged to him, was his alone. And there was heat, burning inside his own body, as if he were on fire. But it did not frighten him. Nothing could frighten him any more.

Something hit him hard, in the chest, and he was hurled to the ground with appalling force. His head hit something, and stars exploded in his vision. He struggled to get up, slipping on the wet snow and not knowing what was going on. He could hear something, somewhere. Footsteps, running toward him.

There was no strength left in his body any more. He slumped back down again.

'_SKANDAR!'_

He knew that voice. 'Father?' he mumbled.

And then he fainted.


	8. Voices

**Chapter Eight**

**Voices**

Skandar's senses came back slowly, in little bits, as if they were nervous to do so. His head was aching horribly; there was a redness flashing inside his skull.

He lay very still, keeping his eyes closed, and tried to think.

Then he realised he could hear someone sobbing nearby. They were doing it quietly, and talking at the same time.

'…Skandar… oh gods… what have I done?'

Someone was holding onto him. He could feel them stroking his hair. And someone else was holding his hand. He felt warm and safe, though his side and chest hurt, and his head too.

He groaned and opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was his mother's face. Her eyes were reddened, but the instant she saw him her expression changed. 'Skandar!'

The grip on his hand tightened and then Galbatorix was there too. 'Skandar! For gods' sakes, are you all right? Where does it hurt?'

Skandar blinked slowly. 'My head hurts. What… happened?'

Skade lifted him in her arms, hugging him tightly. 'Oh, thank gods you're all right, oh Skandar…'

Skandar held onto her. 'I'm all right. I'm all right.'

The instant she let go, Galbatorix was hugging him too. 'Skandar! _'R dduwiau wedi bendithio_, the gods have blessed me. You're all right. Thank gods.'

Skandar tried to sit up, but they both insisted that he lie down. Galbatorix dashed off and came back with a blanket to put over him, and another to fold under his head, and Skade gave him some warm water to drink.

Skandar breathed deeply. He was back at the camp, and Laela was there, and he was safe.

'How did I get back here?' he managed.

'Your father brought you back,' said Skade.

'I thought you were going to die,' said Galbatorix. He was looking pale and shaken, and to his shock Skandar saw that his normal eye was wet with tears.

'I'm sorry-,' he began.

'No,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'Don't apologise. This is my fault.' He covered his face with his hands. 'Oh gods, I'm such a selfish idiot. I woke you up yelling at your mother, and I dragged you out here in the first place…'

'But you rescued me,' said Skandar. 'From that… thing. I don't know what it was.'

'It was a bear, and I didn't rescue you from it. _You_ did that. By the time I got there the thing was already running away.'

Skandar blinked. 'What? Why?'

'Because it'd had enough, I'd say,' said Galbatorix, sounding a little more rational now.

Skandar tried to remember. 'I didn't know what it was. I followed it because I could hear it and I thought it was you. And then when I saw it I didn't know what to do. I thought maybe it was friendly, but then it tried to drag me off and I scratched it. And then it got angry and started growling at me and attacking me. It hit me,' he recalled. 'In the side.'

'Yes, and it put a nasty hole in you,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm sorry, Skandar, but you're going to have a scar there. I didn't heal it soon enough. And you'll have another one on your chest from where it knocked you over the second time.'

Skandar paused. 'What happened, though? Why… I can't remember properly.'

'Well, what I saw was you attacking it,' said Galbatorix. 'I've never seen anyone do something like that in my life. You were biting it in the head and snarling like a… well, like a dragon. You must have scared the life out of it. It knocked you off and then ran away.'

'I don't know why I did that,' said Skandar. 'I didn't think about doing it. I just… did it.'

'Well,' said Galbatorix. 'One thing's clear.'

'What?'

'You take more after your mother than I realised.' Galbatorix glanced at her with the hint of an amused grin. 'She's the only one of us who'd attack a bear with nothing but her teeth and claws.'

Despite herself, Skade chuckled. 'I've seen you fight like a madman before, but only with a sword in your hands.'

Skandar rubbed his head. 'Am I going to be all right?'

'I think so,' said Galbatorix. 'The wounds the bear gave you weren't deep enough to kill you, and after I healed them they weren't any danger to you any more. But you'd taken a blow to the head, and for all I knew it had been enough to kill you. I can't heal injuries like that. But you woke up, and that means… you're all right. How much does it hurt?'

'Not _too_ badly,' said Skandar. 'I think there's a lump there.'

'That'll go down before too long. Promise. But you should rest for a while.'

'All right.' Skandar did his best to lie still. The fight with the bear felt like a dream now, though his injuries were still hurting a little. _I've got scars now_, he thought.

'Do you want something to eat?' Skade asked.

'Yes, thankyou.'

Galbatorix helped him sit up, and Skade gave him some toasted bread and an apple. They tasted delicious, but he ate them slowly. His mouth still tasted of blood.

'So when are we going to leave?' he asked once he was done.

'Not until tomorrow,' said Galbatorix. 'We should let you rest for today. In fact, we all need to rest. We've been pushing ourselves too hard.' Behind him, Skade nodded.

'But we've _got_ to leave,' said Skandar, trying to get up.

Galbatorix pushed him back down again. 'Careful. What are you talking about?'

Skandar gave him an accusing look. 'You said we have to get to the dark elves quickly. I heard you say it this morning. You said we need their help.'

'Yes, but you're more important than that, Skandar. I'm not letting anything happen to you.' Galbatorix looked miserable. 'I mean… anything else.'

Skandar fixed him with a penetrating stare. '_Why_ do we have to get to the dark elves quickly?'

Galbatorix glanced quickly at Skade. 'Because we can't live out in the open too much longer. It's bad for you. Bad for all of us.'

'But you said there was something you needed them to help you with,' said Skandar. 'I heard you. You said you needed them to change you back to the way you used to be. What does that mean?'

'W… it doesn't matter.'

'Yes it does. If it didn't matter, then why were you shouting?'

'Well, I…'

'Tell him,' Skade said softly. 'It's time you did.'

'Well…' Galbatorix stared at the ground. 'It's because… I'm not quite…'

Skandar waited tensely. 'What is it?'

Galbatorix looked up. 'I'm sick,' he said. 'I have been for a long time. I want to get to the dark elves because I think they can cure me.'

Fear turned Skandar's stomach to ice. 'Sick? How?'

'In the mind,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm forgetting things. I can't sleep properly. And I feel frightened of… things I can't quite see.'

'What things?'

'I don't really know. But I'm frightened of what might happen if I'm not cured soon.'

'You're not going to die, are you?' said Skandar, now very frightened. 'Please, you're not going to die?'

'No, Skandar. I don't think so. But I won't feel whole again until it's fixed.'

'Well, then,' Skandar said firmly, 'That's settled.' He pushed the blanket off himself and got to his feet over the protests of his parents. The ground lurched slightly beneath him and he staggered, but managed to right himself. 'We've got to go,' he said.

'No, Skandar. It can wait. We have to give you time to get better.'

'I _am_ better,' said Skandar. He pointed at Galbatorix. 'We're going to find the dark elves. We'll fly there as fast as we can.'

Galbatorix hesitated. There was a sudden authority in his son's voice that caught him off-guard. A power than hadn't been there before. 'And why would that be?'

'Because I don't want you to be sick,' Skandar said firmly. 'And because I say so.'

There was tense silence for a few seconds, and then, quite suddenly, Skade started to laugh. Galbatorix and Skandar both looked at her, and she laughed even harder at their near-identical affronted looks.

'My gods,' she said eventually wiping her eyes, 'Galbatorix, I think we've just found out whose son he is. Yours.'

'I'm yours too,' said Skandar, a little uncertainly.

Galbatorix grinned. 'He sounded exactly like me, didn't he? I couldn't believe it either. Well…' he turned to Skandar. 'I can see you've decided to take charge now, so…' he reached into his robe. '…I think this is rightfully yours.'

Skandar stared at the crown. 'What?'

Galbatorix put it into his hands. 'Go on, take it. It's yours now. Keep it safe,' he bowed low. 'Lead on, Great King.'

Skandar scowled. 'Stop making fun of me.'

'I'm not. You took charge, so you're in charge now. You've proven you can fight a bear and come out of it alive, and you made me do what you said, and that's enough for me. What do you want us to do?'

Skandar hesitated, but saw no sign of mockery in his father's face, or in his mother's. 'Well…'

Laela had been watching them. Skandar looked at her, and his resolve hardened.

'We'll go,' he said, putting the crown on his head. 'Fly on. See how far we can get today. And then the day after that we'll fly even further. Until we get to Hen Addef.'

Laela lowered her snout toward him, her big eyes shining. _'Just as you say, King Skandar.'_

They travelled far that day, over the plains. Skandar could see the landscape changing below them, and kept his eyes on the horizon, where the mountains beyond the plains still loomed. They were growing a little closer all the time, and he hoped that they were the ones they were looking for. Though flying was just as tedious now as it had been before, he had lost his impatience with it. His father's words had put an urgency into him, and a determination. They had to get there, and fast; he knew it with a strange certainty that grew stronger all the time. The dream still lingered in his mind. If they didn't get to the dark elves soon, terrible things would happen.

They landed at sunset, as usual, touching down in a small canyon ringed by tall rock formations. Laela estimated that they were about halfway across the plains by now. _'A few more days should do it,'_ she added confidently, lying down and folding her wings.

Galbatorix sat down and rubbed his bad leg. 'So, what do we do now?' he asked.

Skandar realised the question was directed at him. 'Um… we make camp, don't we?'

'Well don't ask me,' said Galbatorix. 'You're in charge now.'

Skandar took the crown off. 'Here.'

But Galbatorix didn't take it. 'It's yours now. Put it somewhere safe.'

Skandar hesitated a moment, but then but it into the inside pocket of his own robe.

Skade was already getting their bags down. 'Come on, you two, don't make me do this on my own.'

Skandar pulled himself together and went to help her. She handed him a pair of large bags, and he put them down at the edge of the new campsite. Galbatorix hadn't moved, but was watching him with the hint of a sly gleam in his eyes.

'Could you light the fire now, please?' said Skandar.

Galbatorix got up at once. 'Yes, sir.'

Skandar opened his mouth to protest, but then grinned. 'Make it nice and big. It's cold here.'

Galbatorix paused. 'We could get Laela to melt the snow for us, if you like, sir.'  
Skandar nodded. 'Yes, that's a good idea. Laela, can you do that?'

Laela got up a little laboriously. _'Yes, sir,'_ she said. _'Please, stand aside, sir, so you don't get burned.'_

Skandar gestured at his parents. 'C'mon, we've got to move out of the way so Laela can melt the snow for us.'

Skade smiled to herself as she obeyed, and Galbatorix limped over to join them. They climbed onto a small stump of snow, dragging their bags with them, while Laela positioned herself near to them. She paused a moment, head raised, and then opened her mouth and breathed a great sheet of white and silver flame. It hit the clearing right in the centre, melting the snow instantly, and she continued to scorch the ground for several minutes, removing the rest of it and drying the soil beneath. When she had done she shut her mouth again and said; _'There you go, sir. It should be more than good enough now.'_

Skandar ventured back into the campsite. There was no snow left anywhere, and the ground was blackened and steaming slightly. When he touched it, he found that it was warm and dry. 'Laela, that's amazing!'

Laela chuckled and lay down again. _'Glad to be of service, sir.'_

Skandar felt his chest swell with pride. 'Come on, we can make camp now,' he said, turning to his parents and trying to make his voice deep and commanding. It didn't quite work, but they came anyway.

Galbatorix limped to the centre of the camp. 'Shall I light the fire here, sir?'

'Yes. Mother, you can start building the lean-to. I'll help,' he added graciously.

There was no wood in the immediate vicinity, so the two of them arranged the luggage in a neat heap among the rocks and headed off for the trees just beyond their little canyon. There was wood enough there, and even some berries growing on a tree. Skandar filled his pockets with those and then helped Skade gather some branches.

'How am I doing?' he asked, a little bashfully.

'You're doing very well,' said Skade, looking on him with a smile.

Skandar smiled back. 'I don't understand why, though.'

Skade paused in the act of breaking a branch off a tree. 'Well,' she said. 'I don't see why not. You're the one who decided we should leave, not me or Laela or your father.'

'But Father's in charge, isn't he?' said Skandar.

'Not any more. He just stepped aside and let you take over. You were there, weren't you?'

'Yes, but why?'

'I think he's tired,' said Skade, effortlessly tearing the branch free and adding it to the bundle under her arm. 'He should be. He's more than a hundred years old, and he's not well.'

'Will he get better?' Skandar asked, unable to hide his anxiety.

'I think so,' said Skade. 'He's a strong man, and he's survived worse. Much worse.'

'Like what?'

'You haven't seen his scars yet,' said Skade. 'Ask him to show you some time. You'll understand then. How many have you got there?'

Skandar suddenly realised that he hadn't looked at his own scars yet. 'I don't know,' he said, putting down the branches he was carrying. 'I'll look.' He unfastened the front of his robe. It was badly torn, he noticed. Underneath, his chest was marked by a deep, ragged scar right in the centre. It was reddish and swollen, and he felt it carefully. It ached a little, but not too badly. He opened his robe further and checked his side. There was another scar there, and this one was even bigger than the first. He could see the marks of the bear's claws.

Skade came closer to look. 'Do they hurt?' she asked quietly.

'Not really,' said Skandar.

She sighed. 'I feel like such a fool. I should have kept a closer eye on you… when I realised you were gone, I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the heart. And then when your father brought you back, I couldn't stop feeling like it was my fault… if you'd died…'

Skandar pulled his robe back over his shoulders. 'I'm all right, Mother,' he said. 'I really am. I shouldn't have run off, but I was scared. I thought Father was leaving and I wanted to bring him back and then I got lost…'

'He blamed himself,' said Skade. 'I've never seen him so upset.'

Suddenly, spontaneously, Skander giggled. 'That's so silly.'

Skade blinked. 'What is?'

'Well all of us think it's our fault what happened!' said Skandar. 'You, me, Father… did Laela think it was _her _fault?'

Skade paused a moment, and then laughed. 'I think so. You're right; it _is_ a bit silly.'

'Yes, and no-one thought it was the bear's fault,' said Skandar. 'I'd have just been lost if it hadn't come along.'

'And you fought it off,' Skade said gravely. 'All on your own. Your father said it was huge. You're a very brave boy, Skandar.'

'I don't _feel_ brave,' said Skandar.

'No-one ever feels brave,' said Skade. 'You only know you're brave when someone else tells you you're brave.'

'Well you're brave,' Skandar said boldly.

Skade stood very still for a moment, and he saw an odd look on her face – almost like she was hurt, or scared. Then she suddenly threw down the branches she was carrying and hugged him tightly.

Skandar, taken aback, let her hold him. There was a strange feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, almost like the sickly feeling of guilt, like some part of him was lying.

When Skade let him go, he was shocked to see that there were tears on her face. 'Mother? What's wrong?'

Skade rubbed her eyes. 'I'm fine,' she said. 'Just… I'm so glad to have you back, Skandar. You're the most precious thing in all the world, you know that, don't you?'

Skandar smiled shyly. 'I don't mind about what happened, you know,' he said. 'About getting hit on the head, or having scars.'

'Scars are nothing to be ashamed of,' said Skade.

'I know,' said Skandar. 'I _like_ them. Brave people have scars.'

Skade laughed a little shakily. 'You're such an odd little thing sometimes.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't apologise, silly. Now…' she bent and picked up the branches she'd dropped, gathering them back under her arm. 'When I said "how many have you got", I was actually asking about these.'

'Oh.' Skandar picked up his own bundle and counted them carefully. 'Um… one… two… three… five of them, I think.'

Skade paused to count them herself. 'Five. That should be enough. Let's get back to camp. I need something to eat.'

Skandar walked a short way ahead. His mind was in a whirl. He'd never seen his mother act like that before, and in a way it made him feel guilty. He made a silent vow to himself to never let himself get into trouble again, and make her look or sound like that again – as if she were going to cry.

The campsite came into sight, and Skandar held the bundle of branches up high. 'We got the wood!' he called.

No-one replied. He could see Laela there, looking at something, and then as he edged past a heap of rocks, he saw the dark shape lying on the ground.

His heart seemed to freeze. Next thing he knew he had dropped the wood and was running, leaping over rocks and scrambling through the spires and tiny cliffs that ringed the campsite, and back into the clearing. A black fire was burning in the centre, and his father was lying crumpled beside it, watched over by an anxious Laela.

Skandar almost hurled himself toward him. 'Father!'

Galbatorix sat up, blinking. 'Skandar…?'

Skandar grabbed him by the shoulder. 'What happened? Are you all right?'

Skade was close on his heels. 'Galbatorix!'

They helpd him up and he stood, swaying slightly. 'I don't… know what happened,' he said, his voice slow and bewildered. 'I just… lit the fire, and next thing I knew I was falling over. I think… something's…' his face creased slightly. 'My head's… hurts.'

Skade turned to Skandar. 'Get him some water. Quickly!'

Skandar ran to get one of their waterskins, and Skade made Galbatorix sit down against Laela's flank. When Skandar got back, she gave the waterskin to him. 'Here, drink.'

Galbatorix fumbled with the lid, and then drank deeply. He grimaced. 'It tastes strange.'

'It doesn't matter. Have some more; don't worry, we're not going to run out.'

Galbatorix obeyed, and then gave the waterskin back. 'I don't… like this,' he said thickly.

Skandar brought a blanket and silently passed it to his mother. She laid it over Galbatorix, covering him as well as she could. 'Just rest,' she said. 'Skandar and I will get you something to eat.'

While they busied themselves unpacking some food and preparing it, Galbatorix lay back and closed his normal eye. But he kept opening it again, and refusing to sit still.

'Don't let me sleep,' he mumbled when Skade returned. 'Please, make me stay awake.'

She gave him a piece of dried fish. 'Just relax. Eat this.'

Galbatorix took a mouthful and chewed it slowly, but then grimaced and put it down again. 'I think it's rotten.'

'It can't be; we only just got it,' said Skade. 'Here, let me try.' She broke a piece off and ate it. 'It's fine. Come on, you have to eat.'

He obeyed, grimacing. 'I can't. It makes me feel sick.'

'Well eat it anyway.'

Galbatorix managed a few more mouthfuls, and then dropped it and retched. 'Water,' he gasped.

Skade picked up the waterskin and helped him drink; something he evidently didn't enjoy. Once he had finished he lay limply against Laela's flank, his breathing slow and laboured. One hand was twitching slightly.

Skade put down the waterskin. 'Is… is he talking now?' she asked hesitantly.

Galbatorix coughed. 'No. He's gone quiet.'

'What was he saying before?'

'Nothing. Just… nothing that made sense. Just "where am I". I don't… think he knows what's… going on. Skade, I d… I think…' he trailed off.

Skade touched his forehead and pulled away. 'You're so cold… Skandar, get another blanket, will you?'

When Skandar brought it, she was touching the side of Galbatorix's neck, feeling for a pulse, and paid no attention when he offered it to her.

Skandar watched, his heart pounding. 'What's going on? Is he all right?'

Skade withdrew her hand abruptly. 'Skandar, go and get… no, you stay here and keep an eye on him. I'm going to go and look for something.'

Skandar crouched by his father's side. 'You won't be gone long, will you?'

Skade picked up the second blanket and put it over Galbatorix. 'I don't think so. I promise I'll be back before dark. You just keep him comfortable, and make him stay awake, understand? It's absolutely vital that you don't let him go to sleep.'

Skandar nodded. 'I understand.'

'Good.' Skade hurried away.

Skandar touched his father's shoulder. 'Father, are you all right? Are you hurt?'

Galbatorix's black eye opened slowly, and he turned his head to look at him. 'Hello, Skandar. How… are you?'

'I'm all right. Father, what happened? Why did you fall over?'

Silence.

Skandar started to panic. 'Father, wake up! What happened?'

Galbatorix roused himself. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I was using magic to light the fire, and all my strength suddenly disappeared and I fell over.'

'Are you hurt?'

'I don't… think so. I mean, it doesn't hurt.' Galbatorix sounded sleepy, and Skandar's fear increased.

'Please, don't go to sleep. You've got to stay awake. Father!'

The shout seemed to get through. Galbatorix yawned and started to pull himself up a little straighter against Laela's flank. 'Yes, yes, you're right, Skandar. Just talk to me. Make sure I keep talking.'

Skandar nodded. 'I will. Mother's gone to get something, but she didn't say what.'

'Herbs, probably,' said Galbatorix. He sounded a little more alert now. 'How are you, Skandar? How's your head?'

'It's fine now. Father, I've got scars. Want to see?'

Galbatorix's face creased into a smile. 'Yes, why not?'

Skandar undid the front of his robe. 'See? On my chest. And there's another one just here.'

Galbatorix peered at them. 'I didn't realise how big they were. Do they hurt?'

'Only when I touch them. Just a little bit.'

'I'm sorry, Skandar. I shouldn't have… let this happen to us. I'm such… an idiot sometimes. Let people get into danger. Me as well. I always… get people killed.'

'I don't _mind,'_ said Skandar. 'And it's not your fault, it's the bear's fault. Anyway, I like having scars.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Why?'

'Because now I'm like you,' said Skandar. 'You've got scars, and now I do too.'

'Oh, you don't… want to be like me, Skandar.'

'Yes I do!' said Skandar. 'I've always wanted to be brave and strong like you.'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Well you're not. And you never will be. Not if you live for a thousand years.'

Skandar stared at him, both shocked and hurt. 'Why not?'

'Because…' a hand appeared from under the blankets and pointed at him, 'Because you can't. You're already brave and strong like yourself. And… you'll be a better man than me, Skandar. Kinder. Wiser. I know it.'

'You're kind and wise too,' said Skandar.

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Maybe, maybe not. Never really believed it myself. But I w…' he paused and winced, his shoulders sagging slightly. His eyelid started to droop, but he forced it open again. 'I want you to know this, Skandar. Just in case I don't get the chance to tell you later.' He looked straight at him, his eye bright. 'Fathering you was… the best thing I ever did.'

Skandar saw the eye beginning to close again, and shook Galbatorix by the shoulder. 'Father! Wake up! _Wake up!'_

Galbatorix mumbled something. Skandar thought he caught the word "tired" in it somewhere. He shook him harder.

'Father!'

Laela brought her head around and nudged Galbatorix hard with her snout. He stirred briefly, but slumped back again. Skandar grabbed him by the collar.

'_Father!_'

Nothing. Finally, in desperation, Skandar slapped him. Galbatorix yelped, and his eyes snapped open at once.

Skandar grinned triumphantly. 'Stay awake or I'll do it again,' he threatened.

Galbatorix stared at him for a moment, and then lifted a hand and touched the scratches on his cheek. 'Did you just hit me?'

'Yes.' Skandar paused, suddenly ashamed. 'Sorry.'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'It's exactly what your mother would have done. Wouldn't be the first time she'd given me a clip around the ear, either.'

'Skandar!' Skade came running back, with a speed and agility that surprised them all.

Skandar got up to meet her. 'Mother!'

Skade's hands were grubby, and she was clutching something in one hand. 'How is he?'

'Awake,' said Galbatorix, lying back. 'Thanks to Skandar.'

'Thank gods. I thought I was too late. Here.' Skade opened her hand, revealing a pair of thin, pale roots. 'I found these. _Roðull_ roots. Thank gods they grow here.'

Galbatorix took one and put it in his mouth, and they watched as he chewed it. He spat out the pulp. 'Urgh. I forgot how horrible those things taste.'

'Father, you can't spit it out!' Skandar exclaimed. 'You've got to eat it!'

Galbatorix was already looking more wakeful. 'Not these. You just chew 'em.' He sighed. 'Ooh, that's better.'

'You'd better have another one,' said Skade.

'Yes, good idea.' He chewed this one more thoroughly than the last, and politely spat the remains into his hand. After that he was able to stand up again, much to Skade's relief.

'Thank gods,' she said, wiping her hands on her skirt. 'How do you feel now?'

'Much better, thankyou.' Galbatorix smiled and put one arm around her shoulders, and the other around Skandar's. 'I was lucky to have you two here, wasn't I? Skandar did an excellent job keeping me awake.'

'I kept talking to him,' Skandar said proudly.

'And I can't believe you thought of getting _Roðull_ roots,' Galbatorix added, to Skade. 'I didn't even know you knew about them.'

'You taught me,' said Skade. 'Just hold still, will you?' She touched the side of his neck again, and frowned. 'It's better now. Thank gods for that.'

'Why, what happened?' said Galbatorix, letting go of them.

'Your heartbeat had slowed down,' said Skade. 'The only thing I could think of to do was look for _Roðull_ roots, because I remembered you saying how they could stimulate the heart. Here.' She offered him the last two. 'You'd better keep these in case it happens again. They're hard to find here. Now, what happened?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I told you, I don't know. I lit the fire, and then I suddenly felt all weak and shaky and fell over. Maybe it's just tiredness,' added unconvincingly.

Skade's eyes narrowed. 'Maybe. But you should take it easy tonight.'

'I feel all right now,' said Galbatorix. 'I'd just better not use any more magic for the time being.' He stifled another yawn. 'C'mon, Skandar, let's go and build that lean-to before it's too dark to see.'

Skandar helped him fetch the wood, and the two of them built the lean-to against a chunk of rock. As they worked, he was astonished to see how quickly his father had gone back to normal. The sleepy slowness had gone from his voice, and though he limped, as always, he seemed just as energetic and clear-headed as usual.

_He's strong,_ Skandar reminded himself. But he still couldn't shed the last of the fear the incident had given him. He saw clearly now that what he had seen was proof that his father really was sick. And… Skandar faltered slightly as the next thought occurred to him, but he couldn't dismiss it.

And that he might die.

Skade and Laela both insisted on sitting up with him that night. Galbatorix didn't argue. He was more than glad to let them. What had happened that evening had scared him as much as it had scared the others.

The weakness and exhaustion had gone now, and he felt more or less fine. But in spite of that he refused to sit down for long, and kept pacing back and forth by the fire long after the moon was up and Skandar had gone to bed. Skade sat down on a comfortable chuck of rock and watched him.

'You really shouldn't keep doing that,' she said eventually. 'You know your leg can't take it if you keep on walking on it for too long.'

Galbatorix paused briefly. 'Yes, I know. But I'd rather have a sore leg to deal with than fall asleep.'

'Are you really sure you can't sleep?' said Skade. 'Even just for a few hours? I could keep an eye on you.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'No. I refuse to take that risk. What if you fell asleep too? And not even Laela can stay awake forever. All it would take would be one brief lapse…'

'But nothing's really happened so far, has it? I could hide your sword somewhere. We could… if you _really_ wanted, we could tie your hands together.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes. But… I'm equally scared that if I go to sleep I might not wake up again. You saw what happened today. It didn't feel like just ordinary tiredness. It felt as if I'd used too much magic… emptied myself. It felt like the life was seeping out of me.' He paused, unable to hide his fear. 'Skade… I don't want to die.'

'Don't be silly,' Skade snapped, as much frightened as impatient. 'I wasn't suggesting that. But if you don't take proper care of yourself, you could die anyway.'

'I can handle it. My system tells me what I should and shouldn't do. If sleeping's bad for me now, then so be it. I can live without it.'

'_It's a Shade's power,'_ Laela said unexpectedly. _'The ability to live without sleep… eternal wakefulness. It's a Shade thing, not a human thing.'_

'_I know, Laela_,' Galbatorix said sharply. '_I don't like it either, but if I can use it then I will._'

Laela shifted uneasily. _'I don't like this. Using Shade powers for your own ends… you did it while we were flying here over the sea as well.'_

'_Yes, and if I hadn't we'd all have drowned.'_

'_Yes, I know that. But I can't help but worry… you're using Shade powers – how do you know they aren't using you?'_

'_I…' _Galbatorix stopped abruptly, caught off-guard. _'I'd know it if they were, Laela,'_ he said at last.

'_Are you sure?'_

Galbatorix didn't answer.

'_What is Durza saying now?'_ Laela asked more kindly.

'_Nothing. He hasn't said anything at all since I collapsed. I don't think there's any harm in it. He was just mumbling things… asking questions like "where am I" and "what's going on", and so on. If he's really alive inside me, then he's too crippled to think properly. The voice is nothing but a remnant… just a little piece of a mind.'_

'_How can you be certain of that?'_

'_Because I know my own mind,'_ said Galbatorix, too loudly. _'That's how.'_ He stopped, and winced. _'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped.'_

'_It's all right. You're worried, I can understand that. But look…'_ Laela yawned and laid her head down on the ground. _'We'll be at Hen Addef soon. The day after tomorrow, with any luck. All you have to do is hold on until then.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'I'll be fine, Laela. We'll all be fine. It's going to be all right.'_ He repeated it to himself in an undertone as he paced on, staring up at the moon.

Skade had fallen asleep where she was sitting. He realised that and went to her, gently laying her down on her side by the fire and covering her with a blanket. She mumbled something, and he stroked her hair. 'It's all right, Skade,' he murmured. 'You just get some sleep now. I'm here.'

Skade smiled and drifted off again, and Galbatorix resumed his pacing.

'_You should probably get some sleep too,'_ he added, to Laela. _'You need it.'_

The white dragon's tail twitched. _'I'm going to stay awake, thanks. Someone has to keep an eye on you.'_

'_I suspect that watching me limp around will get very boring after a while.'_

'_Maybe.'_

'_But you really shouldn't stay awake all night. You're already pushing yourself very hard at the moment, and being sleep-deprived won't help at all.'_

'_I can manage,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix shrugged. _'Then you leave me no choice.'_ He reached deep into her mind, before she could block him, found the spot, and gave it a nudge.

Laela started. _'Damn you,'_ she muttered, and fell asleep.

Galbatorix chuckled as he withdrew from her mind. 'You'll thank me in the morning,' he said aloud.

He continued to pace for a while after that, but as the night wore on Skade was quickly proven correct. His lame leg started to ache, and when he persisted it weakened and began refusing to work. The joint stiffened, and his limp became more and more pronounced until he was finally forced to stop. He sat down by Skade, gingerly massaging the damaged limb. The ugly lump of deformed bone halfway up his shin was easy to detect, even though the thick cloth of his trousers, and he muttered angrily to himself.

To take his mind off it, he watched Skade. She looked so beautiful to him in the moonlight; innocent and fragile in sleep, as if all her waking ferocity had gone somewhere else for a while. His Skade, so perfect and precious. His Skade, his great love. He smiled gently. With her there, he knew nothing would ever be hopeless. No matter how hard life was, how cruel, how painful or how empty, love was what made it worthwhile and always would. The greatest blessing. The greatest joy.

And then, without warning, the pain flooded back into his brain. He let out a faint cry and clutched at his head with both hands. The pain rose sharply, and his eyes began to water.

As he sat there, unable to move, half paralysed by the agony of it, he heard something. Not outside his head, but inside it. It was… screaming. Faint at first, but growing louder and louder all the time. The pain began to spread into his chest, and he convulsed.

And then the voice was there, not soft and distant now, but loud and all-consuming, filling his whole body with itself.

_LIAR!_


	9. The Last Flight

**Chapter Nine**

**The Last Flight**

The force of the cry hit him almost like a physical blow. But what hit him far harder was the pain. His vision blacked out and he fell backward, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. And all the while Durza's voice roared on in his head.

_LIAR! TRAITOR! _

Horror was rising up inside him, filling him like icy water. But it was not his emotion.

_What have you done?_ Durza screamed. _What have you done to me?_

Galbatorix started to convulse, twitching and jerking on the ground like a dying rabbit. Strangled noises escaped from his throat, between his gritted teeth.

_Where am I? Where is my magic? My body? Curse you, what have you done to me?_

Memories flashed across his brain. The throne-room at Urû'baen, the thin shape of the possessed Eragon, Durza's eyes looking out from the Brat's sickly face. Skade and Nasuada backing away in fear. The Brat, dying on the floor, screaming in a pool of his own blood. Looking in a mirror, seeing the red eye. Fear. Hate. Despair.

The pain receded a little, and he subsided, gasping for breath. Durza's voice had gone quiet.

Galbatorix managed to get up. He realised that he was trembling.

_I cannot see,_ Durza said eventually. _Let me see…_

The red eye twitched. It was trying to open. Galbatorix covered it with his hand.

Durza's scream of anger echoed in his head… but then it faded away, and the pain went with it.

For a long time, Galbatorix sat very still, his hand still over his eye. Waiting. But nothing happened. The voice was gone.

But it would be back.

Skandar was shaken awake. He turned over and groaned. '…what?'

'Get up, quickly,' said Skade's voice.

Skandar opened his eyes. He was in the lean-to, and it was still very dark, but he could just see his mother. 'What's going on? Is it day yet?'

'It's dawn. Hurry up, get the blankets together.'

Skandar picked up the urgency in her voice, and began gathering up the blankets. 'What's going on? Is it Father?'

'Yes.' Skade stuffed the blankets into a bag and Skandar followed her out of the lean-to.

Galbatorix was sitting hunched by the fire, carefully cutting up a loaf of bread. He looked up at Skandar and smiled rather feebly. 'Morning.'

Skade went to him and took the knife out of his hand. 'You should let me do that.'

Galbatorix relinquished it without argument. 'It's not too bad.'

Skandar stifled a yawn. 'Are you all right, Father?'

Galbatorix hesitated, and then shook his head. 'Not as well as I'd like to be. I…' he broke off, wincing. He took in a deep breath and tried again. 'I just… it's my hand.'

Skandar looked down, and saw that his father's right hand looked odd. The fingers were stretched out, as if trying to grasp hold of something.

'I can't move it properly,' Galbatorix said matter-of-factly. He lifted it to rub his head, and Skandar saw that it had a tremor.

'Why is it like that?'

'I don't know. But it's not good. Your mother's taken it as a sign that we should move faster today. Sorry we had to get you up early.'

'I don't mind,' said Skandar.

Skade gave him some bread. 'Here, eat.'

Skandar took a large bite and chewed it as fast as he could. 'Why are you sick, though?'

Galbatorix and Skade exchanged glances.

'It's Durza,' Galbatorix said eventually. 'Part of him is still inside me. I don't know how much, or how strong, but… it's affecting me. I can…' he stopped, and groaned. 'I can hear him. His voice, in my head.'

Skandar froze. 'You can _hear _him?'

'Yes. I have to get him out of me, and fast. If I don't, I don't know what could happen. Skandar…' Galbatorix fixed him with a direct stare. 'There is a chance that I could turn into a Shade. Become Durza. If that happened, my mind would be gone forever, and he would have control of my body.'

Skandar dropped his breakfast. 'What? No-!'

Skade bent and scooped up the fallen piece of bread. 'Calm down. Your father has a strong mind. If Durza starts trying to take control, he'll fight him off. He did it before; I saw him do it.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I can fight him. He isn't trying to take control of me. Not yet. But I think that… I don't know what he's doing to my mind. And I don't know how to stop it.'

'But the dark elves can help,' said Skade. 'We're sure of it.'

'_We can reach those mountains tomorrow night, if we move fast,'_ Laela put in.

'Well let's go then!' said Skandar, forgetting his tiredness and grabbing the nearest bag.

They attached the bags to Laela's saddle and then climbed up, and the instant they were secure she took off. The sun was rising by now, and its light illuminated the plains. Far ahead, the mountains loomed. They looked impossibly far away.

Laela flew for the entire day, soaring as high as she dared, her wings beating constantly and powerfully. But no matter how long she flew, it seemed the mountains never got any closer. By evening she was exhausted, when she landed among some trees and her riders half-fell off her back.

But even as they began to unpack, it was already obvious that Galbatorix had worsened. The tremor in his hand had become more pronounced, and now he was having difficulty picking things up. His speech was halting – constantly interrupted by sudden bursts of pain and by the whisperings of Durza's voice in his head. He could not eat; anything he ate came up again almost instantly. In the end, all he managed to keep down was a few mouthfuls of water. As the evening advanced, he grew drowsy and confused once again and had to be revived by the last of the _Roðull_ roots.

Skade insisted on staying up with him that night, along with Laela, and this time Galbatorix didn't argue. Skandar stayed too, ignoring his mother's half-hearted commands for him to get some sleep, and the four of them kept up a silent vigil.

Galbatorix said very little that night, but he knew they were there. He sat cross-legged by the fire, staring silently at his hand. The trembling was constant now. And the whispering in his ears would not stop.

_You lied. You lied to me. Set me free, half-breed. Set me free!_

The red eye was still closed. Durza couldn't see. He didn't know where he was or what was going on. But he was awake now. And he was becoming more and more aware. Soon he would begin to fight for control, and when that happened he didn't know if he would have the strength to defeat him a second time. Not now.

Skandar did his best to stay awake. His eyelids were heavy, and he was stiff and sore from the saddle. He kept his gaze on his father, almost terrified that if he fell asleep now he would wake up to find him dead. Skade, seeing his exhaustion, cradled him against her and murmured to him. In the end, soothed by the sound of her voice, he drifted off.

The dream visited again that night, just the same as before. Walking between his parents, with Laela flying overhead, looking forward to something he could not see but knew he longed for. But all the while some part of him already knew what was going to happen, and he screamed when the wings began to pull him away. He could see his father's face, pale and frightened, mouthing desperately. _Skandar! Skandar! Please, no! SKANDAR!_

Skandar woke up with a start. He lay still, heart pattering. Just a dream.

He realised he was lying with his head in his mother's lap, her hand resting on his neck, and his fear went away. She was still there. When he turned his head to look up he could see her face, hanging forward a little. She was asleep, her silver hair fluttering in the wind.

The memory of yesterday hit him then, and he jerked upright. 'Father!'

That woke Skade up too, and in moments she was on her feet, looking for Galbatorix.

He was there; awake and upright, pacing back and forth close to the spot where Laela was asleep. When he saw Skade was awake, he darted over to her and grabbed her arm. 'Who's Arren Cardockson?' he said urgently.

Skade stared at him. 'What? Galbatorix, are you all right?'

He paused, his breathing slow and a little raspy. 'Who is Arren Cardockson?' he said again. 'I can't remember, but I can't stop thinking about it. He's important…'

Skade gently pried his fingers away from her arm, and reached out to check his pulse. He let her do that, but kept his eye on her, his expression pleading.

'I have to know,' he said. 'Do you know who he was, Skade?'

Skade took his hand. 'Don't you know?'

He looked down at their clasped hands. 'I think I did once,' he said. 'But I've forgotten. There's so many names in my head, and I don't know who they belong to. Morzan, Orwyne, Idün, Taranis… but Arren's the one. The most important. Did I know him? Please just tell me.'

Skade shivered. 'Your skin's so cold… did you sleep at all last night?'

'No. I was waiting for you to wake up. And… listening. To him. He won't shut up. He keeps on whispering… telling me to do things. He wants me to…'

Skandar looked on, full of fear and confusion. 'Father?' he said. 'Are you all right?'

Galbatorix looked at him. For a moment his expression was a little puzzled, but then he nodded. 'Skandar, do you know who Arren Cardockson is? Did I ever tell you?'

'_You're_ Arren Cardockson,' said Skandar. 'You said you were.'

'I…' Galbatorix was silent for a time, frowning, evidently deep in thought. 'But my name's Galbatorix, isn't it?'

'You changed your name,' said Skandar.

'I did? Why?'

'I don't know. You didn't tell me. Father, can't you remember?'

Galbatorix, swaying slightly, put his hands over his face. 'Oh gods,' he moaned. 'I can't do this. I can't stand it. I'm losing myself. I can feel the pieces falling away from me. I can't _remember_ anything. Where am I? How did I get here?'

Skade grabbed him by the shoulder. 'Calm down! Galbatorix, just listen to me-,'

He took his hands away from his face and looked at her.

'You're Galbatorix Taranisäii,' Skade told him. 'And I'm Skade, and that's your dragon, Laela, and that's Skandar, your son. You're in Tara. We're looking for the dark elves. They can help you.'

He nodded. 'Yes. I know all that. We have to get to Hen Addef, on the other side of those mountains. But I just can't… my hands. Look at my hands.'

Skade did. Both of them were trembling now, and two of the fingers on the one that had begun to shake first were now motionless. Paralysed.

'I can't move it properly. There's no feeling in those fingers. I feel cold all over. Skade, I think I'm dying.'

Skade held him close. 'You're not dying. You're going to be all right. Skandar-,'

Her look toward him was all he needed. He ran to Laela and hit her hard on the neck. 'Laela, wake up! Wake up now!'

Laela jerked awake. _'What? What's going on?'_

'It's Father, he's really bad, we've got to go,' Skandar said in a rush. 'Come on, hurry!'

Laela asked no questions. She had already reached into Galbatorix's mind and sensed what was going on. She lurched to her feet and went straight to him, bending her forelegs. _'Get on,'_ she commanded to all of them. _' Don't worry about the luggage, we can come back for it later. Move! NOW!'_

They helped Galbatorix onto her back, abandoning their bags and taking nothing with them but Galbatorix's white sword and the clothes they were wearing. Galbatorix sat confidently enough on Laela's back, and when Skandar got up in front of him he immediately put his arms around him to hold him in place.

Laela took off with a single powerful leap; putting so much force into it that Skandar jerked violently in the saddle and nearly fell out. But his father's arms held him safe, and they flew.

The sun was coming up. Its light was a glorious mix of orange and gold, falling over the landscape in a great flood. There were forests and snowfields below and behind them, and more ahead. And, beyond that, the massive shapes of the mountains.

Laela put her head down, and flew.

Skandar held onto her neck as tightly as he could. He could feel his father's warm shape behind him, and his strong arms wrapped around his chest, keeping him safe. But he could feel his hands trembling as well, and when he looked down he could see them. It struck terror into his heart. It was getting worse. What if it spread? How far would it go? Would it end with him shaking all over – unable to control his own body ever again?

Hours dragged by. Skandar could see the ground far below; hills, forests and plains passing beneath them and vanishing into the distance while the mountains grew steadily closer and closer. But it seemed that they never actually left the horizon, and after a while, as his tiredness began to tell on him, he began to imagine that they were flying on the spot – forever unable to read their destination.

Noon came and went. Hunger left a yawning void inside Skandar's stomach. He ached all over, and his mind seemed to be full of grey fog. He felt as if he hadn't slept in years.

He could just hear his father, muttering to himself just behind him. It was impossible to tell what he was saying, but it was a kind of comfort. He could still talk. He was alive.

The sun was getting closer to the horizon. Evening was coming. In a few hours the stars would begin to come out. But when Skandar looked ahead now, he could see the mountains. They were nearly there. Nearly there…

At long last, just as the first glow of sundown was beginning, the mountains loomed out of the landscape. Laela angled her wings and soared up and over them. For a few minutes they were flying over peaks and valleys and massive crags, and then they were over the mountains and beyond…

…where there was nothing but endless snow.

Laela landed at the very edge of the mountains, in a tiny valley that opened up into the land on the other side. She stood there for a few moments, staring in bewilderment, and then abruptly dropped onto her belly, her legs folding beneath her.

Skandar managed to climb down, but his own legs instantly collapsed and he half-fell into a snowdrift.

Galbatorix needed Skade's help to undo the leg-straps, but after that he was able to get down on his own. Once he was on the ground, he limped a short way past Laela and stood just under her snout, staring out at the lands beyond the mountains. Skade joined him, and Skandar got up and walked stiffly over to them, unable to believe what he was seeing.

There was nothing there. No city. A vast snowfield stretched out for as far as the eye could see, unbroken by a single landmark. Not even a tree.

'What…?' Skade said at last. 'What's going on? Where is it? Where's the city?'

Galbatorix said nothing. He stood and stared at the snow, his hands shaking uncontrollably, and then turned and limped away.

Skandar went after him. 'Father! Father, what's going on?'

Galbatorix ignored him. He walked back into the valley, his head bowed. There were trees further into the mountains, and he slumped down at the base of one and sat there, his one eye staring at nothing.

Skandar caught up with him. 'Father?'

No response.

Skandar hesitated. 'What do we do now? Father?'

But still Galbatorix did not reply. He stayed where he was, unmoving, until Skandar became frightened and started to run back to where Laela and Skade were. They were already coming, and he went straight to Skade. 'Mother, what do we do now? Why isn't there a city here?'

Skade shook her head silently and walked past him to Galbatorix. She crouched in front of him and took his hand. 'Galbatorix? Are you all right?'

He looked up at her. Then he looked away.

Skade shook him by the shoulder. 'Galbatorix! Talk to me! Do you know what's going on? Where are we?'

'I've failed,' Galbatorix mumbled at last.

Skade looked a little relieved. 'How do you feel?'

Galbatorix got up abruptly. 'I've _failed_,' he said again, almost sharply. 'That's all that… oh gods…' he turned away.

Laela managed to push her way into the valley. _'This makes no sense,'_ she said. _'Why would there be a city here? No-one could live here!'_

'But they said there was a city here!' Skade exclaimed. 'Beyond the-,' she stopped suddenly, looking out over the plains. 'Unless… Galbatorix, did they say anything about other mountains? Was there a second range between us and Y Castell?'

Galbatorix's face was an impassive mask. 'No. And it doesn't matter either way. We can't cross that. I've failed. I brought you out here for nothing. The only thing we're going to find here is death.'

'Well,' said Skade, with a kind of forced brightness, 'We need to rest. I can light a fire. And Skandar and I can scout around for food.'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely. 'If you want to. I'll… wait here with Laela.'

Skade dragged a heap of wood together and lit it with a quick burst of magic, and they huddled around it, trying to keep as warm as they could. It was freezing cold here, and the wind blowing in from off the plains bit straight through their clothes. Skandar had found some edible roots, and he and Skade chewed listlessly at them, washing the frugal meal down with snowmelt. Galbatorix ate nothing, and sat by the fire with his shaking hands clasped together, wincing occasionally.

'We have to decide what to do,' Skade said at last, unable to keep her silence. 'We can't stay here for long.'

Galbatorix looked up. 'There's only one thing to do: go back.'

Skade sighed. 'Yes. You're right. Flying out over those plains would be suicide. But what about…?'

'Go,' Galbatorix said again. 'Both of you. Go back to Sealord. See if you can find a home there. And leave me behind.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Skade snapped.

'Skade, it's pointless,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm finished. And don't say that's just an exaggeration, because it's not. I can feel my heartbeat slowing down. My vision is going. I can barely remember my own name. By tomorrow I'll be dead, or worse.'

'Then we're going to be with you when it happens,' Skade said sharply.

'Skade, I don't want you to die. You or Skandar, or Laela. I brought you out here on a fool's errand, and I take responsibility for whatever happens to you from now on. All I can hope for now is that you'll be safe.'

Laela stirred. _'And what about me?'_ she demanded. _'You really think I'd leave you here, you little fool?'_

Galbatorix sat with his shoulders hunched, breathing slowly. _'I don't know. I don't remember you well enough to know what you'd do.'_

Laela dragged herself as far into the valley as she could and nuzzled him desperately with her snout, radiating worry. _'Galbatorix, please. Please, try and remember. Don't let yourself disappear.'_

'_I can't. Laela, it's gone. My memories, they're not there. There's nothing but a big blank darkness.' _

His tone was so matter-of-fact that it immediately banished the faint hope that he was exaggerating. If he did not know what he was losing…

'What _do_ you remember?' said Skade.

Galbatorix was silent for a time, frowning, deep in thought. 'Nothing,' he said at last. 'I mean… I know a few things.'

'What things?' said Skade. 'Tell me everything. It might help.'

Galbatorix tucked his shaking hands into his robe to keep them warm. 'I'm Galbatorix Taranisäii. I'm a dragon-rider, and you-,' he looked at Laela, 'You're my dragon, Laela. You-,' he looked at Skade. 'You're Skade, and I love you,' he said, his voice almost earnestly sincere. 'And you…' he looked at Skandar.

Skandar sat very still, watching him hopefully, willing him to know.

Galbatorix frowned. 'I don't know who you are at all. Where did you come from?'

It hit Skandar almost like a physical blow. 'I'm Skandar!' he exclaimed. 'I'm your son!'

'What son?' said Galbatorix. 'I don't have any sons! Why didn't anyone tell me?'

'I-,' Skandar began… and then he caught the hint of a smile on his father's face.

Galbatorix laughed and ruffled Skandar's hair. 'Don't get upset, I was only teasing you. Of course I remember who you are. How could I forget?'

Skandar grinned in relief. 'It would be horrible if you ever forgot me.'

'Yes. It would.'

'Is that everything?' said Skade.

Galbatorix thought it over for a while. 'We flew out here looking for the dark elves at Hen Addef, so they could help us. And this land is called Tara. How long were we travelling for?'

'Weeks,' said Skade.

Galbatorix shook his head. 'It could have been one day or ten years for all I know. Where did we come from to get here?'

'Alagaësia,' said Skade. 'That's where we were born.'

'"Alagaësia",' Galbatorix repeated, sounding the word out. 'That's an odd-sounding name. Stupid-sounding, really.'

'Is that all you remember?' said Skade. 'Think! Please, just try as hard as you can.'

'I know some things,' said Galbatorix. 'I know the names of trees and what different herbs do, and how the stars move. Things like that. But I can't remember places or people, or where I've been, or what I've done. I…' he cringed and clutched at his head, his mouth stretching into a grimace of pain. 'Oh gods, it hurts. It won't stop hurting. It hurts when I hear him, and he won't stop… _ahh!'_ His voice suddenly modulated into a strangled scream, and he went rigid for a second. Then he began to convulse, falling back against the tree trunk, his whole body jerking and twitching.

Skade ran to hold him still, and he eventually relaxed.

She helped him up. 'Galbatorix, are you all right?'

He sat, groaning. 'I…' he stopped, and his eye widened.

'What?' said Skade. 'What is it?'

'I remember!' Galbatorix cried. 'I remember something!'

Skandar had scrambled over to them. 'What is it? What do you remember?'

'I remember…' Galbatorix paused. '_Berthyna at… 'ch chrau a Anercha… 'ch fel brawd a chyfaill_.'

'What does that mean?' said Skandar.

'It's dark elvish,' said Galbatorix. 'If you ever meet a dark elf, you must say it to him.'

'What was it?' said Skandar. 'Say it again.'

'_Berthyna at 'ch chrau a Anercha 'ch fel brawd a chyfaill_,' Galbatorix repeated. He said it several more times, trying to keep it in his mind, and Skandar repeated it along with him.

'I know it!' he said, once his father had fallen silent. '_Berthyna at 'ch chrau a Anercha 'ch fel brawd a chyfaill!_ I can say it now.'

'Well done,' said Galbatorix. 'Never forget it.'

'I won't.'

'That's good,' said Skade, moving away a little, but cautiously. 'If you remembered that, then maybe other things will come back too. Maybe this is just Durza's dying, and once he's gone you'll go back to normal.' She stood up. 'Come on, Skandar. We should get some more wood together and build a shelter.'

'_We shouldn't have left the blankets behind,'_ Laela sighed. _'But I was so sure we'd be at Hen Addef tonight… I could fly back and get them, but not now. You'll have to rest against my flank. It'll be warm enough there, and I can cover you with my wing.'_

Skade nodded. 'Good idea.'

They helped Galbatorix to his dragon's side, and he slumped down against her warm white scales. He was still strong enough, but there was something hopeless about the way he moved now.

Once he was comfortable, Skade left Skandar with him and went on a last, desperate search for food.

She returned an hour or so later with mushrooms and a scrawny dead bird. 'It's not much better further in,' she told them. 'There's a huge maze of valleys and canyons… most of them don't have any trees in them at all, and there's ice and old snow. Dangerous country. We shouldn't go too far in there. Skandar – don't go in there on your own, ever, understood? If you do you'll get lost and you'll probably be hurt.'

'I'm not going anywhere,' Skandar said fiercely. 'I'm not stupid.'

'I don't think you are. Here. Eat these. I know they don't look very good, but they'll have to do.'

Skandar took the mushrooms and ate them without complaining. He was too hungry to care that they were shrivelled and dirty.

Skade cooked the bird as well as she could over the fire, and insisted that Skandar eat it too. When he pointed out that she had left nothing for herself she said; 'Oh, I ate back there while I was foraging. Don't worry about me.'

Skandar was not fooled. He knew she was giving him everything in spite of her own hunger, and though he didn't say anything it made him feel hot with guilt.

Skade sat down against Laela's flank, rubbing her hands together to try and warm them.

'Skade.'

She looked up sharply. 'What is it?'

'Look,' said Galbatorix.

Skade followed his one-eyed gaze, but saw nothing. 'Look at what?'

Galbatorix carefully grasped hold of his right hand using his left, and lifted it. The instant he let it go, it flopped limply into his lap. That was when Skade realised that it had stopped trembling.

'I can't move my arm,' Galbatorix said quietly.

Skade grabbed it. The limb was motionless and did not tense when she dug her claws into it. The skin was as cold as ice. 'Galbatorix, what's happening?' she demanded. 'Why is this happening?'

He squinted at her. 'I don't know, Skade. I don't know. I d…' he stopped, blinking.

'What is it?' said Skade, her grip tightening on his hand.

Galbatorix rubbed his eye with his left hand. 'Are you still there?'

'I'm right here!'

'I can't see you. You're all blurry. Skade?'

Skade had let out a soft, hoarse sob. She let go of his hand and covered her eyes, trying to calm herself down, but her shoulders were shaking.

Galbatorix fumbled for her shoulder. 'Please, don't cry. I'm sorry, Skade. I'm sorry.'

But Skade only sobbed harder while Skandar held onto her arm, trying to comfort her.

Galbatorix sat and listened to her, full of a horrible sense of helplessness that made him hate himself. His right arm hung heavy and useless at his side, a limb now only in name. His ears were full of Durza's mutterings, and the world around him was turning grey and hazy. He was going blind.

There was only one thing to do.

He opened his red eye.

Instantly, the world swam back into focus. He could see Laela, and Skandar, and Skade-

And then Durza began to scream.

_SHADESLAYER! SHADESLAYER!_

Galbatorix put his good hand over his ear, trying desperately to block the sound out. But it was hopeless. The pain of Durza's presence was building unbearably, making his vision flash red.

'Galbatorix?' It was Skade, grabbing him by the shoulder and looking at him with concern.

Galbatorix tried to make the eye close, but it refused. It stayed open, fixed on her face.

_Kill her,_ Durza snarled. _Kill her now! I command you! Kill her or I will make you suffer._

Galbatorix dug his nails into his face, tearing at the skin. 'No,' he moaned. 'No, stop it, please, stop it!'

_KILL HER!_

_No_, he thought. _No_.

'Galbatorix? Galbatorix, for gods' sakes, what's happening? Galbatorix!'

Galbatorix tried to pull away from her, mumbling. 'No. No, I won't. I won't. I love her, I won't, I won't… no…'

He wanted to get away, wanted to get up and run, but his legs would no longer obey him. Durza had suddenly fallen silent, and the pain had gone, and now there was nothing inside him but exhaustion. All those long nights spent in wakefulness, all the sleep he had missed, began to bear down on him all at once.

His memories were gone and, with them, much of what had once made him who he was. What was still just his body was nearly empty, but it would not be so for long. He could feel something else coming to take up that blank space. The power of the Shade Dream filled his body, blanking out his eyesight, taking his voice and his hearing, and carried him away.


	10. Shade Dreams

**Chapter Ten**

**Shade Dreams **

He woke up quite suddenly, and was on his feet before he realised that something had changed. He looked around, confused. He was standing among pine trees and there was crisp white snow underfoot. More snow was drifting silently out of the night sky, and when he looked up he saw silver stars and a bright half moon. Absolute silence reigned in the forest, and the air was full of the spicy scent of pine-needles, mixed with the tang of snow.

He was completely alone.

'Skade? Laela? Skandar?'

Nothing.

He walked through the forest, looking for them, but they weren't there. And everything else had gone too. The camp, the valley, the mountains and the snowfields…

'Where am I?'

'Face me,' a voice whispered.

He turned sharply, and froze. _'You!'_

There was a tall shape standing by a tree, watching him. 'Hello, Sire.'

Galbatorix advanced on him, teeth bared. '_'N felltigaid hun, Ladda 'ch!_'

Durza's red eyes narrowed. 'I am here. I will not leave. So kill me if you can.'

Galbatorix reached automatically for his shoulder, and there was the hilt of White Violence, his sword, strapped to his back as always. He pulled, and the blade came free with a soft whisper of metal on leather.

Durza raised an eyebrow. 'You do not choose to use your magic, half-breed?'

Galbatorix pointed the sword at him. 'Magic can't stab _you_ through the heart, traitor.'

'Traitor!' Durza began to circle him, pacing silently and gracefully, like a cat. '_You_ call _me_ a traitor, when in return for my loyal service you gave me nothing? I shared my power with you, and all you gave me was broken promises. And when I forgave you and came to your aid when you were languishing, you refused me!'

Galbatorix spat. 'I would never place my trust in a Shade. You asked me to share everything I knew with you, and that was what I did. You betrayed me. You did not care about my Empire; all you wanted was my power. And I would not give that to you in a million years.'

'But what you want does not matter any more,' said Durza. 'The struggle is over and I have won. I am in your mind now, and you can never be rid of me. No magic can do that. My essence is bound up in your flesh, my memories fill your mind. Your arrogance has cost you more than your life. It has cost the lives of those you love.'

Galbatorix was beginning to crouch slightly, preparing himself to attack. 'No. You cannot defeat me. I beat you before, and I can do it again.'

'With what?' said Durza. 'Your strength is nearly all gone, half-breed. When you used Shade power, you opened the channels in your mind. I have been feeding on your magic ever since then, and every day I grew a little stronger. I did not attack you directly because I did not need to. I destroyed your mind from the inside out. Now there is scarcely anything left of the man called Galbatorix Taranisäii. I am claiming my due… and my revenge.'

'Not if I kill you first,' Galbatorix snarled, and rushed at him.

White Violence came down, hitting Durza in the shoulder and leaving a deep slash in his body. He screamed, blood soaking into his tunic, and Galbatorix struck again. But the second blow missed. Pain suddenly blossomed in his wrist, and more spread over his face and chest. As he hesitated, not knowing where it had come from, Durza began to laugh.

Galbatorix lashed out, punching him in the face and bowling him over, but he kept on laughing. All around the trees began to change, warping and shifting into new shapes. The snow melted into redness and the ground underfoot shook to the sound of the Shade's endless laughter. Then something hit him hard in the chest, knocking him violently to the ground. He struggled desperately, crushed by a terrible weight, but it would not let him go. And Durza was advancing on him, his red eyes ablaze.

_Soon there will be a new Shade,_ he whispered. _Greater and more powerful than anything that has ever gone before. And his name will be-_

'_Galbatorix!'_

Galbatorix continued to struggle, trying to drag himself out from beneath whatever it was that was pinning him down. But his strength was ebbing away from him. He couldn't move his arm, and his other arm was feeble and trembling. He was helpless, lying there, and Durza could kill him at any moment…

'_Galbatorix! GALBATORIX!'_

He blinked. When he opened his eyes again, he realised that the forest had gone. So had Durza. He was lying on hard, cold ground, and something wet and sticky was on his face. Something huge and white was resting on his chest, holding him down. He lay still, frightened and bewildered.

'_Galbatorix? Can you hear me?'_

A voice in his head. Not Durza's. Female, and frightened.

'…_Laela?'_

Laela's distress was overwhelming. _'Galbatorix! For gods' sakes, are you all right?'_

'_I'm… I… are you holding me down?'_

'_Yes. I'll let you up now.'_

Laela's talons gently lifted away from him, and he managed to sit up. His right arm was still numb from the shoulder down, and his left was shaking as badly as ever. But it would still work. He took hold of his right arm and dragged it over. There was blood on the wrist. Something had torn the skin open, but it didn't hurt.

Someone was crying.

Galbatorix looked up. It was nearly dark – everything had taken on that grey dimness that came immediately before nightfall. But he could still see well enough.

It was Skade. She was standing by the cliff at the edge of the valley, holding onto Skandar, who was sobbing.

Galbatorix got up with some help from Laela, and limped slowly toward them. 'Skade? What's going on?'

Skade looked up sharply at the sound of his voice, and he saw the fear written all over her face. Skandar looked up too, and immediately drew away from him, his sobs breaking out afresh. As Skade moved to follow him, Galbatorix saw the blood on her gown.

His heart froze. 'Skade, what happened to you? Are you all right?'

Skade said nothing. She let go of Skandar and held out her left arm, exposing the deep slash that went clear across her chest from her shoulder to her stomach.

Galbatorix stared in horror. 'What-? What did that to you?'

Skandar cried even harder, and Skade looked away.

As Galbatorix stepped toward them, his boot trod on something metallic. He looked down. It was his sword, lying on the ground. He picked it up awkwardly with his left hand. It was heavy. He couldn't lift the point off the ground, and he gripped harder and tried again. As the blade turned, knocking against his leg, the last rays of the dying sun shone on something dark and glistening on the blade.

The hilt fell out of his fingers.

Galbatorix staggered backward. 'Oh no,' he moaned. 'What have I done? What have I-?'

'_You went mad,'_ Laela told him softly. _'You attacked Skade. And when Skandar tried to stop you, you hit him in the face.'_

His left hand clenched itself into a fist. 'Oh gods. Oh gods…' he limped suddenly toward Skade. 'I _told_ you!' he shouted. 'I told you to go and leave me here! I t-,' his voice broke and he turned away. 'Oh gods. I can't stop it. It's too late. He's going to… and my magic…'

_I will kill her, _Durza whispered. _I will kill them all. You know I will._

Galbatorix's expression suddenly hardened. He turned around and limped back to his sword, which he picked up. 'Skandar. Skandar, come here.'

Skandar turned his tear-streaked face toward him. His cheek was bruised and swollen, and he made no move to come.

'Skandar, please,' Galbatorix said again. 'I'm sorry. I didn't want that to happen. That wasn't _me_. Please believe me, Skandar. I would never hurt you.'

Still Skandar did not come. But Skade let go of him and gave him a gentle push. 'Go to your father,' she said quietly. 'He needs you.'

Very slowly, Skandar came toward his father. Galbatorix waited for him, still and calm. He turned the hilt of the sword toward him. 'Here.'

Skandar reached out carefully and touched the pommel.

'Take it,' said Galbatorix.

Skandar looked uncertainly at him, but then wrapped his long fingers around the hilt. Galbatorix let go of it, and let Skandar take the sword into his own hands.

'White Violence,' he said. '_Hvítr Atganga_. _Gwynnwy Angerdd_. A rider's sword. There is no weapon stronger or sharper. Take it, Skandar. Use it well. It's yours now. Never let it take the blood of an innocent, use it to fight honourably and with courage. You will be a great warrior some day… no. You are one already.'

Skandar gripped the hilt of the sword. 'I don't understand. Why are you giving me this?'

'Just listen to me,' Galbatorix said urgently. 'Please, just listen. I… I'm sorry, Skandar. For all I am and all I made you be… but no matter what happens or what you choose to do with your life, you are my son and I love you and I'm proud of you. You'll grow to be a better man than I was, and I trust you not to make my mistakes. Take care of your mother, and Laela, and yourself.' He paused, and raised his left hand. '_Mai 'r chyneua chan 'r tharian lleaud achlesa 'ch_… my son.'

He fell silent and turned away, limping slowly toward the end of the valley.

Skade followed him. 'Galbatorix, what are you doing?'

He stopped, but did not turn around. 'I love you, Skade, with all my heart. You were the greatest joy I ever had in my life. The only oath I ever kept was to you. I will love you forever. Even beyond death itself. Goodbye.'

Skade started to run. 'Galbatorix, no-!'

Instantly, Galbatorix broke and darted away, running with shocking speed away along the valley and into the mountains. Skandar dropped the sword and ran in pursuit, with Skade. Behind him Laela let out a bellow of anguish and began trying to follow, but the valley was too narrow. She struggled out and clawed her way up the mountainside, then took to the air with a clumsy flick of her wings.

But their efforts were all in vain. In spite of his limp, in spite of his weakening senses, Galbatorix had not lost all his powers. He reached the shelter of the forested valley just beyond, and there he melted away into the darkness – vanishing as if he had never been there at all. Skade and Skandar wandered blindly among the trees, calling his name endlessly, but they found nothing. Laela, flying overhead, was even more blind in the dark than they were. She sent her call over the mountains, again and again, roaring until it seemed the very earth and the stars could hear her, but there was no answer. His presence in her mind was gone, reduced to nothing but the faintest of whispers. He was blocking her out. When a dark elf did not want to be found, nothing could uncover him.

Galbatorix was gone.

Galbatorix could hear them calling him. Every fibre of his being longed to reply, to go back to them, to let himself be found, but he resisted, forcing himself to remain in the shadow that had taken him for its own.

_You think you can save them like that?_ Durza whispered. _By hiding from them? You think I won't find them after you die? _

Galbatorix ignored him. He pressed himself against the rough bark of the tree behind him, leaning on his left arm to stop it from trembling and giving him away. He could hear the calls coming from to his left, mingled with Laela's roars.

'Galbatorix! Galbatorix, please! Come back!'

'Father!'

Galbatorix gritted his teeth. _Go,_ he thought. _Please just go!_

There was a rustling from nearby, and he tensed.

'Father?'

Skandar. The boy appeared from out of the undergrowth, his face wet with tears, still calling for his father. Galbatorix could see him perfectly through the red Shade-eye.

Durza could see him too. _Your son. Your half-breed son. Killing him will be so easy. _

Skandar came closer, peering blindly in the darkness. If he reached out in front of him now, he could touch Galbatorix's chest.

'Skandar!'

Skandar turned away. 'Mother? Where are you?'

Galbatorix watched him leave, but only when he was well out of sight did he finally exhale. Neither of them ventured within sight again, but he remained where he was. He waited there for over half an hour, until the moon had risen and Laela's calls finally died away. Silence rolled in to replace it, dark and immense, almost crushing.

Galbatorix moved away from the tree. They would never find him here, not at night. They would be forced to go back to the campsite and rest until morning. But he wouldn't.

He started to walk away through the trees, moving with all the silent swiftness of a dark elf. A living shadow.

_Where do you think you're going?_ Durza asked coldly. _There is nowhere to go out here. You would be better off spending your last night alive with your family and your dragon. _

Galbatorix didn't reply. He walked with his head down, scanning the ground. He had one night to find it.

Skandar did not sleep that night. He and Skade returned to the campsite, having nearly become lost themselves, both strained and exhausted. Skandar helped his mother to the dying remains of the fire and sat her down by it. Her wound had weakened her, and she sat huddled by the embers, saying nothing while Skandar put more wood on the fire and coaxed it back to life. His face still hurt, but he didn't notice it much.

Once the fire was burning again, he sat down close to Skade, wanting to touch her but somehow frightened to. But she put her good arm around him and held him close without prompting, and for a long time the two of them sat there in silence, feeling the chill and listening to Laela's roars. They went on for a long time, and Skandar could hear the hopelessness beginning to come through in her voice.

It was a long time before she finally fell silent, and they saw her shape move overhead, blotting out the stars, before she landed clumsily on the mountainside and there huddled down, making a strange whimpering noise.

'What are we going to do?' Skandar asked at last in a small voice.

Skade sighed a long, unsteady sigh. 'We wait,' she said, sounding slightly hoarse. 'When morning comes, we'll go and look for him.'

Skandar nodded miserably. 'But what if we don't find him?'

'We will,' said Skade. 'Laela can find him, don't worry.'

Skandar was silent for a while. 'Are you all right, Mother?' he asked.

Skade winced slightly as she shifted her position. 'I'll survive,' she said briefly.

'Aren't you going to heal it, though? You can do that, can't you?'

'I could, but I have to save my energy,' said Skade. 'I need it to keep warm.'

'Can I do it?' said Skandar. 'I know the words.' Without waiting for an answer, he touched Skade's wound, at the top of her shoulder where it began, paused a moment to remember, and said; '_Waíse heill!_' He braced himself, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. He took his hand away and sighed angrily. 'I can't do it.' His fists clenched. 'Why can't I do it? Why am I useless?'

Skade hugged him. 'Stop that. You're not useless.'

'Yes I am!' said Skandar. 'Father's got magic, and you've got magic, and Laela's got magic. Why don't I? If I had magic I could heal you, and Father as well, and I could make the fire better, and…'

'Calm down,' said Skade. 'Skandar, stop it. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault, all right?'

'But it _is,'_ said Skandar. 'Father said he only came out here because he wanted to keep me safe. He never… I wanted to see the Empire. It's not _fair.'_

Skade put her hand on his head. 'Life is never fair. Good people don't always get what they deserve, and neither do bad people. And your father didn't just bring us out here because of you. He wanted to come here too, and so did Laela. And I did as well. It's not your fault, and you should never think that.'

'But I should still be able to do magic,' Skandar muttered, unable to stay angry.

'Many people don't have magic,' said Skade. 'It doesn't make them any better or worse than anyone else. Now you should get some sleep.'

'No. I don't want to.'

'But you should do it anyway,' said Skade. 'It's not good for you to stay awake all night.'

'I don't care,' said Skandar. 'I don't want to have that dream again.'

'What dream?' said Skade.

'I keep having it,' said Skandar. 'It's horrible. I dream that… I'm somewhere in a snowfield somewhere, with you and Father, and then I'm being dragged away and I'm trying to stay with you and you're calling to me but I can't go to you, and then you're gone and I'm all alone. I hate it.'

Skade held him close. 'It's all right, Skandar. I'm here. I won't leave you.'

'That's what Father said,' said Skandar.

'And we're going to get him back,' said Skade. 'I swear we will.'

But Skandar did not sleep that night, and neither did Skade. The two of them sat by the fire for hours, saying little, kept awake in spite of their tiredness by hunger, cold and worry.

Skandar saw the moon come up. It was a half-moon, shaped like a dragon's eye, and he watched it, glowing against a bank of faint grey clouds, surrounded by a pale aura. It was so beautiful. He had always thought so. Was it watching over him?

'_Dynged Leuad_,' he whispered to himself.

His father's words came back to him. _If you ever feel lost and uncertain, turn to the moon. Pray to it, ask it for help and protection. It's your guardian. _

'_Are_ you my guardian?' he said aloud to it.

No reply. Only the silence of the night. But a strange confidence came to him then.

'Please,' he whispered, 'Please help me. I need you to help.' He kept his eyes on the moon as he spoke, letting its light into his eyes like water cleaning a wound. 'Please, moon, give me my father back. I want him back. Please, bring him back. I'll do whatever you want. Just bring him back.'

Skade stirred. 'What are you doing, Skandar?'

He looked around at her, almost sheepishly. 'I was… praying.'

He half-expected her to mock him or even be angry, but instead she pulled her arm more tightly around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely. But all she said was; 'Well, we'll just have to hope that someone was listening.'

And though he knew she was only humouring him, Skandar couldn't help but believe that something had.

Dawn came unexpectedly, almost abruptly. Skandar had lost track of time, and though he was unable to sleep he went into a kind of half-waking trance that prevented him from realising that the sky had begun to lighten until the first rays of the sun appeared.

He stirred, rubbing his eyes, briefly unable to remember what was going on or why the sky was lightening. But memory came rushing back soon enough, and he nudged Skade.

'Mother! It's morning! Wake up!'

Skade groaned. 'What's that, Galbatorix…?'

Skandar nudged her again. 'It's me, Skandar. The sun's coming up.'

Skade rubbed her eyes and yawned widely, displaying her sharp dragonish teeth. She focused on Skandar with difficulty. 'Oh, hello, Skandar. I'm sorry, I thought… I was still dreaming.'

'It's morning,' Skandar repeated. 'We've got to go and look for Father.'

Skade got up quickly. 'Thankyou for waking me up. I…' she winced and felt her injury. It had scabbed over during the night, but still looked swollen and painful. Fortunately Galbatorix had not been strong enough to strike with the strength he had once had; if he had been at his full strength the wound could well have been fatal.

The fire had gone out. Skade kicked over the ashes while Skandar walked around to unstiffen his legs. He saw something on the ground, and bent to pick it up. It was White Violence, which had still been lying where he'd dropped it. Traces of Skade's blood were still visible on the blade, but it was a beautiful weapon. Skandar held onto the hilt with both hands, almost angry with himself for having left it lying around in the dirt. It was his sword now. His father had told him to take care of it. And he'd-

A scream split the air.

Skandar swung around, sword in hand, and then the ground began to shake. He staggered backward, frightened and confused. Fragments of rock came tumbling down the mountainside into the valley, landing dangerously close to him, and he panicked and ran to get out of the way. But the noise of breaking stone was almost drowned out by the sound that came from the mountainside.

It was Laela. The white dragon had been sleeping uneasily in the spot where she had landed the night before, but now she had suddenly jerked awake. And she was screaming. Her talons tore at the mountainside, ripping out chunks of solid rock, and her tail thrashed like a headless snake, the spikes striking the ground with an audible thumping. Her head was thrown back, snout pointing at the sky, mouth wide open. And she was screaming.

Skade came running, dodging the falling rock, surprisingly nimble in her boots. She grabbed the terrified Skandar by the shoulder and dragged him out of the way, to the far end of the valley where it opened up into the forest where Galbatorix had vanished.

'What's going-?' Skandar began, but Skade wasn't listening. She found an overhang and shoved him into it before diving in after him.

Skandar huddled uncomfortably, his ears full of Laela's awful cries. 'What's wrong with her?' he shouted.

Skade shook her head silently, her grip tightening on his shoulder.

The two of them waited in the overhang, hearts pounding, until Laela's screams abruptly stopped. Skade stayed where she was for a while before cautiously venturing out, and Skandar followed her.

Eerie silence had fallen. 'What's happening to Laela?' he ventured.

'Something bad,' Skade said grimly. 'Come on.'

The two of them left the trees and returned to the valley where their camp had been. Laela was lying on the side of the mountain, her flanks heaving, one wing twitching slightly. There was a heap of newly-fallen stone now lying across the floor of the valley. Skandar went cold all over when he realised that it had buried their camp completely.

Skade scrambled over the heap, trying to get to Laela, calling her name.

Laela did not respond, but then she suddenly scrambled upright and opened her wings.

'Laela!' Skade yelled. 'Laela, what's going on?'

Laela's head turned toward them. _'Something's happened to him,'_ she said. _'I have to find him. He's hurt. He needs me.'_ Without waiting for an answer, she flew away.

Skade came sliding back down the rubble. 'Come on,' she said, to Skandar.

They left the valley and entered the maze of the mountains, following Laela. The white dragon quickly left them behind, but they could see her easily enough in the distance and went in that direction.

It was hard going. There were rocks, trees and slippery patches of snow to negotiate, and once they had to jump over a half-frozen stream, but they kept on going, stopping only briefly to rest. Skandar said nothing the entire time. He toiled on relentlessly, his mouth set into a grim line, carrying White Violence tucked under his arm.

'Look,' Skade said at last, pointing.

Skandar turned his head in that direction, and saw that Laela had stopped. She was circling over a spot some way ahead, and they could hear her calling again.

'That must be the spot,' Skade muttered, walking on.

The spot, when they eventually reached it, was a large canyon deep in the mountains. There were a few trees there, but they were half-buried in ice and snow. Bits of rock protruded through it here and there, but the canyon was almost entirely white. Laela was circling overhead, calling, but there was no sign of anyone else in the area.

Skade and Skandar stopped at the edge of the canyon. There was no way of going any further anyway. Some time in the past something – perhaps an earthquake – had left a massive chasm that went clear from one edge of the canyon to the other. Snow had heaped up around its edges, but it was still quite visible, and though they could see a long way into it from the side of the slope they had had to climb to enter the canyon they could not see the bottom.

Skade flopped down on a lump of stone, panting. 'I… can't… see anything.'

Skandar couldn't find anything to sit on, so he stayed standing, leaning on White Violence. 'Why have we come here?' he managed. 'There's nothing here.'

Skade looked up. 'Maybe she can help us.'

Laela had evidently spotted them, because she angled her wings and flew down toward them, landing awkwardly by the chasm. But she was more than close enough to reach them with her mind. _'Are you all right?'_

'_We're exhausted,'_ Skade said baldly. _'Laela, what's going on? Why have you brought us here?'_

Laela paused, and both of them could feel her anguish. _'He's hurt,'_ she said. _'I felt it. But I can't find him. I don't know what to do. Skade, I don't know what to do. I've lost him. He's gone.'_

'_Think!'_ said Skade. _'Can't you do something? You're his dragon, don't you have some way of calling to him?'_

'_With my mind, but he's blocking me out.'_

'Damn him,' Skade growled out loud. 'Where is he? Where's he hiding?'

'Can you use magic to find him?' Skandar piped up.

'I…' Skade paused. 'I could scry him, but it wouldn't work. You can't scry a dark elf.'

'Well is there something else?' said Skandar. 'Isn't there a spell or something that can make him come?'

Skade shook her head. 'Not as far as I know, you'd-,' she froze.

'What?' said Skandar.

Skade stood up sharply. 'Yes!' she exclaimed. 'Of course! That's it! Why didn't I think of it before?'

Laela could hear them. _'Think of what before?'_

'Galbatorix's true name,' said Skade. 'We know what it is. If we call him by it, he has to come.'

Laela stiffened. _'Of course!'_

'Do it, then,' said Skade.

Laela needed no further prompting. She lifted her snout to the sky and roared. _'FÁRBJÓĐR! FÁRBJÓĐR, COME TO ME! COME! COME NOW, FÁRBJÓĐR!'_

Skade took in a deep breath. 'Fárbjóđr!' she yelled. 'Fárbjóđr, come to me! Come here, now! Come!'

Skandar listened, confused. When Skade fell silent he said; 'Should I shout it too?'

Skade nodded. 'Yes, you do it too. Fárbjóđr. Call it, as loud as you can.'

'"Fárbjóđr",' Skandar repeated. 'All right.'

Skade resumed her calling, and Skandar hesitated a moment and then added his voice to hers and Laela's.

They continued to call for a long time. Skandar made his voice as loud as it would go, until his throat hurt and he started to cough. In the end Skade was the one who gave up first, subsiding back onto her seat and breathing deeply.

Skandar took that as a signal and fell silent, rubbing his neck. 'Now what do we do?' he asked hoarsely.

'We wait,' said Skade.

Skandar nodded and sat down on her lap, and she held onto him while they rested, listening to Laela's calls.

Time dragged by, and eventually Skandar came to a slow realisation of just how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since the previous day, and that had been barely anything. The pain in his stomach was agonising. He settled for sucking on a handful of snow. And waited.

Nothing happened. Laela continued to call, but still Galbatorix did not come. In the end she fell silent and subsided onto her belly, too tired to keep going.

Skandar felt the last of his hope begin to drain away. It hadn't worked. He wasn't coming. 'Come, Fárbjóđr,' he mumbled to himself. Nothing.

Finally, Skade sighed and stood up. 'Come on,' she said. 'We can't stay here. We have to find something to eat.'

Skandar nodded. 'But we – _mother!'_

Skade followed his shocked gaze. 'Oh my gods,' she breathed.

The two of them ran forward, slipping and sliding on the hard-packed snow. Laela had already seen it, and made a clumsy half-jump, half-glide to the top of the slope. She could go no further, but she didn't need to. She stood by Skade and Skandar, and the three of them stared, disbelieving, at the black-robed figure that slowly staggered out of the sunken trees toward them.

Skandar ran forward in time to see his father collapse. 'Father!'

Skade was close behind him, and Laela as well. The white dragon nudged desperately at Galbatorix's still form, growling deep in her throat.

Galbatorix lay face-down, unmoving.

Skade grabbed him by one limp arm. 'Galbatorix! Please, say something. It's me, it's Skade…'

Galbatorix stirred. His left arm, now almost completely useless, pushed at the ground and rolled him onto his side. He lay there, curled up, one leg shaking.

Skandar touched him. 'Father? Father!'

Galbatorix's left hand moved slightly. 'Kill me,' he whispered.

Skade lifted him into a sitting position, supporting him with her arms. 'Galbatorix, I – oh gods…'

Galbatorix raised his head, and Skandar recoiled in horror. His face had gone deathly white, tinged with grey and shot through with sickly black veins. The Shade-eye was open and alert, and the other, still black, had a core of horrible, blood red.

'Father,' Skandar managed. 'Oh no…'

Galbatorix's eyelids drooped. 'Kill me,' he said again. 'Please, kill me.'

Skade touched his face. 'Galbatorix, please talk to me. Look at me. Do you know who I am?'

He stared blankly at her. 'No. But you have to kill me. Take…' he looked at Skandar, then at the sword in his grasp. He pointed at him, his fingers only just able to curl. 'You, with the sword. Give… give it to the elf. And you…' this was to Skade. 'Take it and stab me. You have… to finish it.'

Skade took his hands in hers. 'No. Galbatorix, no. I won't.'

He took in a deep, rattling breath. 'How… do you know… my name? Did we… know each other?'

Skade began to sob. 'Galbatorix, please… it's Skade. It's your Skade. Don't you know me any more?'

He shook his head. 'No. I don't know you. I don't…' he looked at Laela. 'And you… you're… who are you? Did I know you?'

Laela tried to make mental contact with him, but failed. 'Please,' she said aloud, 'Let me in. I have to talk to you.'

He just stared at her. 'I don't know what you mean. Skade-,' he returned his gaze to her, but there was still no recognition there. 'You have to kill me. Please kill me now.'

'I can't,' she whispered. 'I can't.'

He shuddered and looked appealingly at Skandar. 'You do it, then.'

Skandar pulled away. 'Father, please, stop it!'

Galbatorix's expression changed. For a moment – a brief, terrible moment – there was a hint of something there that was not blank entreaty, something that might have been recognition. But then it was gone. 'You have to kill me,' he said. 'Please, I don't want to become him. You have to save me.'

But Skade shook her head. 'No. I won't do it. I can't do it.'

'Then…' he paused, 'Then help me stand.'

She did, lifting him to his feet as gently as she could. He stood, swaying slightly and squinting.

'Heard… heard you calling,' he mumbled. 'Didn't want to come, but I came… anyway. Because you were calling.'

'We wanted you back,' said Skade.

He nodded vaguely, not looking at her. 'Please,' he added, looking down and gently pulling his arm out of her grasp. 'Let go of me.'

She did. 'You need to lie down, you need to rest…'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'No, I know what I need. I only need one thing.'

He started to walk down the slope. Then he broke into a run. Skade went after him, but slipped on the snow and fell heavily. Laela rushed at him, but he ducked under her snout and ran on, half sliding down the slope, his right arm dragging uselessly, lame leg threatening to collapse. He reached the edge of the chasm… and stopped.

Laela tried to follow him, but as she dug her talons into the snowy slope for balance it shifted dangerously beneath her and she stopped, realising that it could collapse and bury him. There was no room to take off here. She stood there, stuck in indecision. 'Don't!' she shouted. 'Please, don't!'

Galbatorix could hear her. He stood at the edge of the chasm, looking down into its yawning depths. He could hear the fear in the white dragon's voice, but he didn't understand why it was there. She must know him, somehow, must know who he was.

But there was another voice he could hear, and that was far louder to him now, and far more urgent. _I have you now. I have you. You're mine. _

His eye was burning. He could feel the redness spreading over it. The black veins pulsated horribly on his face. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. It was getting slower and slower. Very soon, it would stop altogether. And then he would be gone. The pain was spreading through his head, but it was weak now. He was feeling pain less and less. He would have welcomed true pain in place of what was now coming to claim the last of his body. That numbing coldness, so deep and dark. It was changing him. And though he could no longer remember what it was he had been before, he knew he did not want that to happen.

His resolve hardened.

'I will not die a monster,' he snarled, and hurled himself into the void.


	11. A HalfBreed's Blood

**Chapter Eleven**

**A Half-Breed's Blood**

'_NO!'_

The force of Laela's psychic scream slammed into Skandar's head, so hard it caused him physical pain. The white dragon reared up onto her hind legs, wings thrashing, and the mountains shook under the sound of her unearthly howl. Skade grabbed Skandar by the arm and dragged him away, and not a moment too soon. Even as they scrambled away over the snow, Laela fell onto her side with a massive, sickening thud, and began to convulse. Her great, muscular body flailed wildly, smashing the trees and breaking the stone as she screamed on, as if her heart were being torn out of her chest. The slope on which she had been perched broke apart under her onslaught, sending a huge avalanche of ice and snow tumbling down into the canyon, and Laela fell after it, landing at the bottom with a horrible cracking sound as the walls of old snow around her collapsed, burying the chasm that had taken Galbatorix under a ton of crumbling ice.

It was all over in moments, and afterward there was nothing but a massive, crushing silence.

Skandar had been knocked over by the shaking of the ground. He managed to get up and began scrabbling at the ground, searching desperately among the burning-cold snow. His fingers closed around White Violence's hilt, and he pulled the sword free.

Skade had recovered herself too, but she said nothing. She walked silently beside Skandar as the two of them ventured as far as they dared and stood there, staring into the canyon. Laela was lying at the bottom, half-buried in snow. Unmoving. There was no sign of the chasm. It was gone, leaving nothing but a stretch of pure-white, glittering ice.

'He's gone,' Skandar said blankly. 'He's gone.'

Skandar took his hand. 'Come on,' she said. 'We have to go.'

Skandar resisted as she began to pull him away. 'But Laela-!'

'She's dead,' Skade told him in a strange, flat voice. 'They both are. All we can do now is save ourselves.'

'But can't we do something-?'

'We can't,' Skade said, almost sharply, and began to drag him away back over the remains of the slope, out of the canyon.

Skandar did not want to go with her. He tried to break free, his eyes still fixed on Laela's motionless figure. White Violence was still gripped in his free hand, and he held onto it tightly, never wanting to let it go. 'We have to help Laela!' he shouted.

Skade was not listening. She kept her face turned away from the canyon and what lay there and, as she crested the hill, she did not see what Skandar saw.

'Mother!' he shouted, suddenly resisting fiercely. 'Mother, look! _Look!'_

Laela had stirred. As Skade paused and looked back, the white dragon suddenly got up, her wings unfurling.

'Laela!' Skandar shouted. '_LAELA!'_

Laela did not look at him. She made a sudden lunge forward and began to scrabble her way up the side of the canyon, her talons cutting into the ice and rock as if it were as soft as wood. Her movements were fast and desperate, as if she were fighting her way out of a pit of fire, heedless of physical danger or of anything other than her need to escape. As she cleared the mounds of suffocating snow, her wings opened wide and began to thrash at the air. She made a rapid half-run, half jump and launched herself into the air, flying up and out of the mountains. Skade and Skandar stood there, unable to do anything but watch as the white dragon rose higher into the sky and then flew away, out of the canyon, out of the mountains, wings beating with a mad, savage strength, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Then she was gone, vanishing into the pale sky as if she had never been, and they were alone.

Skandar stared at the sky where Laela had been, the wind ruffling his hair, and he wanted to say something… to ask why she had gone and whether she would come back, but somehow his voice would not work. He looked mutely at his mother, but her face was unreadable.

'Come,' she said gruffly, and this time Skandar did not argue.

They walked slowly out of the canyon and back toward the centre of the mountains. It was more sheltered there, and the snow was thinner on the ground.

Skade said nothing. She found a spot at the base of a cliff, where there was the semblance of a cave, and sat down, letting go of Skandar's hand and huddling down, her arms wrapped around herself.

Skandar put his sword down beside her. 'I'll go and find wood,' he said.

Skade did not answer. He left her sitting there and walked away into the small stand of trees that grew around the overhang to look for wood. He found some and dragged it back to the overhang, where he built it into a crude mound.

'If I get some long branches, we can cover part of this,' he told his mother. 'Make it into a shelter.'

Silence.

'I'm going to get some food,' Skandar added, and left again.

He spent the best part of an hour searching among the trees. His parents had both taught him about hunting and foraging, but there was precious little here to hunt or forage. In the end, patience won him a few handfuls of edible lichen, some withered berries and the pathetically small and wasted body of a hare that had died from the cold. He took those back to the overhang and found that Skade had lit the fire and built a crude wall of sticks over part of the overhang to shield it from the cold.

Skandar crouched down by the fire and laid his finds on the ground for her to see. 'I got this for you,' he said. 'Here, eat it. It's good for you.'

Skade quietly took a handful of berries and chewed at them. While she did that, Skandar skinned the hare as well as he could and spitted it over the fire. While it was cooking, he quietly passed more food to his mother, eating none of it himself.

Skade looked at him. 'You should have something too,' she said softly.

'I'm not hungry,' Skandar lied. 'You eat it. Please. I know didn't eat anything yesterday.'

'You should eat something too,' said Skade.

Skandar sat close to her, trying to warm her with his body. 'I'll eat some of the hare,' he promised.

The hare, when they hacked it up and shared it, was burnt and had scarcely any meat on it, but they ate it anyway; chewing the bones and even eating the innards. To Skandar, it tasted delicious.

Then it was gone, and all they could do was sit together in the overhang, listening to the howling of the wind. It was getting dark now, and the cold was closing in on them, overwhelming the feeble protection of the fire. They had been moving automatically thus far… doing what they had to do in order to survive, shutting out all thought. But now there was nothing to do. No way to let themselves forget.

'Father's dead, isn't he?' Skandar said in a small voice.

Skade did not reply.

Skandar fixed her with a dark, direct stare. 'He is, isn't he?' he said.

'Yes,' Skade whispered. 'He's dead, Skandar.'

Skandar looked into the fire, not seeing it at all. 'He didn't remember us,' he said. 'He said he wouldn't forget about me, but he didn't know who I was. He didn't remember…'

Silence. And then, quite suddenly, Skade let out a passionate cry, half-sob, half wail. She wrapped her arms around Skandar, holding him to her, and began to cry. Her sobs were broken and terrible, full of unutterable pain and grief. Skandar could feel her whole body shaking with them, as if she were being struck. Her tears wet his face, and though she was warm they were cold.

But Skandar did not cry. He held onto his mother, utterly silent, feeling as if there were a great, gaping void where his heart should be, as deep as the pit that had taken his father. And though he told himself that he should cry, the tears would not come. _Maybe I'm dying,_ he thought, his inner voice cold and matter-of-fact.

He held onto Skade, listening to her cry. She did not stop for a long time.

'It's all right, Mother,' he said once she had begun to quieten. 'I'm going to look after you. I'll keep you safe, I promise. I'll be brave like Father, and I won't let anything happen to you.'

Skade let go of him and looked him in the face. He looked back earnestly, and she hugged him again. 'I love you, Skandar,' she whispered. 'You know that, don't you? I love you so much…'

'I know,' said Skandar. 'I know.' He let go of her. 'You should sleep now,' he told her firmly. 'You're tired and you need it.'

Skade stared at him for a moment, and then laughed weakly. 'Are you giving me orders?'

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'I've got the crown, remember?' he took it from his pocket and showed it to her. 'That means I'm in charge.'

Skade smiled a little. 'All right, then,' she said. She held out her arms. 'Come on. We have to lie close together to keep warm, or we could freeze during the night.'

Skandar nodded and put the crown away again, and the two of them curled up by the fire, Skade holding Skandar to her chest and covering them both with her cloak.

Skandar lay on the hard ground, watching the fire. It was starting to flicker and die down; it was running out of fuel to burn, and it would go out before morning. But he was too tired and worn to care, and a few minutes later he slipped into something closer to an exhausted swoon than to true sleep.

He did not dream that night.

Dawn came, white and glaring. Skandar woke up shivering. The fire had gone out, and there was an icy wind blowing through the makeshift barrier and into the overhang.

Skade's body was cold and still against his.

Skandar's heart seemed to freeze. He got up at once, his stomach churning, staring at her. His mother had not moved. Her face was pale, eyes closed. As if she were a statue.

Skandar shook her by the shoulder. 'Mother! _Mother!'_

To his overwhelming relief, she groaned and opened her eyes. 'Skandar?'

Skandar sagged slightly. 'Oh gods… I thought you were dead.'

Skade sat up, rubbing her arms. 'Oh… it's so _cold…'_

'I'll get more wood,' said Skandar, already climbing out of the overhang.

Skade followed him. 'No,' she said. 'There's no point. We should leave here now. We can't stay in these mountains another night.' She picked up White Violence. 'I'll carry this for you.'

Skandar took it out of her hand. 'No, I want to carry it,' he said. 'It's mine.'

Skade nodded and stepped out into the open. Snow had fallen during the night, and the little stand of trees was frosted with white. She examined the landscape, apparently thinking.

Skandar joined her. 'Which way do we go?' he asked.

Skade looked uncertain. 'I'm not sure,' she said. 'I have to think…' she looked at the sun, calculating the direction it would take across the sky. Finally, she nodded and turned to face Southward. 'This way,' she said. 'Out of the mountains, back the way we came.'

They left the valley in that direction, and the day's walking began.

But leaving the mountains was far easier said than done. They did their best to keep going Southward as much as possible, but it was often impossible to find a good path in that direction. Very often they were forced to take a different route to negotiate their way around a mountain or some other obstacle, and at more than one point they were actually heading in the opposite direction than the one they wanted to go in.

And it soon became plain that neither of them was in any condition for walking. They were exhausted, worn down to the very edge of their strength by weeks of hard physical labour mixed with poor sleep and inadequate food. Hunger and stress had taken its toll, and the cold ate away at their already feeble strength. Slowing them down.

But neither of them faltered. They walked on, hour after hour, rarely stopping, both knowing that if they let themselves rest for too long they would be unable to carry on. They stopped speaking to each other. After a time they both forgot their hunger, and their pain as well. They were entering into a state where such things no longer mattered. There, nothing existed but the need to go on. Always go on, beyond everything, even thought.

White Violence was heavy. And the more Skandar walked, the heavier it seemed to get. He had no sheath to keep it in, and no belt to hang it from, and even if he had he knew he was too short for it. He kept it tucked under his arm to stop the blade dragging on the ground, but it threatened to cut him if he let it shift against his body. But he would not leave it behind.

His feet hurt. His legs hurt. His stomach hurt. Every part of him hurt. He felt as if he were made up of nothing but one endless, terrible ache. He no longer cared about finding food, or about the cold, or about his mother, or anyone or anything. All he cared about, all he could think of now was the urge to escape from this place, to leave these pitiless mountains behind and never return. Every time he slipped, every time he missed his footing or stumbled, he righted himself and carried on, his expression unchanging.

It was late evening when Skade finally spoke. 'Look,' she said, pointing.

Skandar looked, and eventually realised what she was indicating. There were no more mountains ahead of them. They were nearly out. But he felt no relief or happiness at the realisation; only a kind of tired despair.

Skade let out a great sigh and trudged on.

They finally came out of the mountains just before sundown, emerging into a quiet, snowbound forest. There, Skandar threw down the sword and slumped onto a tree root, lying back against the trunk behind him with his eyes closed, too exhausted even to move. Skade remained standing, leaning against a different tree, her chest heaving.

They remained like that for a long time, unspeaking.

Finally Skade pulled herself upright with an effort and limped away, deeper into the forest.

Skandar followed reluctantly. 'Can't… we stay here?' he mumbled.

Skade ignored him. She climbed slowly up a hill and stopped when she reached the top, surveying the landscape from her vantage point.

Skandar, catching up with her, saw her stiffen slightly. She turned around on the spot, looking back at the mountains and then at what lay outside them in the area where they had emerged. 'Oh no,' she moaned.

Skandar stood beside her, following her gaze. And then, quietly, he realised what it was she had seen. The trees gave out after a short way. On the other side of the hill from the mountains they merged into an endless expanse of whiteness. No forests. No mountains, or hills. Utterly featureless.

Skandar's brow furrowed. 'What…? What is that? Where are we?'

Skade turned away and walked off, back down the side of the hill. Skandar went after her, but she did not go far. Once she reached the base of the hill she stopped, half-collapsing by a fallen tree.

Skandar sat down beside her and put down the sword in order to take her hand. 'Where are we?' he asked again.

Skade sighed. 'We've… we must have lost our direction. We've… we're on the wrong side of the mountains. We're back where we were two days ago.'

Skandar closed his eyes. 'Oh gods…'

Skade had buried her face in her hands. 'We'll stay here tonight,' she said. 'Tomorrow we'll try again.'

But Skandar already knew she did not believe they would make it. He let go of her hand and sat hunched beside her, staring at nothing. 'Where did Laela go?' he said. 'Why did she fly away? Why didn't she stay with us?'

'When a rider dies, his dragon feels it,' Skade said tonelessly. 'If she doesn't die herself, she goes insane.'

Skandar felt a strange pain in his throat. Laela was mad. Wonderful, kind, funny Laela had abandoned them. She had felt her rider die…

He looked at his mother, feeling a terrible helplessness. _If I were a dragon, I could carry her,_ he thought. _I could light a fire to keep her warm. I could keep her safe. If I were a dragon…_

Skandar shuddered slightly, and felt slow tears run down his face. He was so tired…

The wind changed. He felt it die down and then return, coming down off the mountains and blowing through the trees, making their needles rustle with a dry, whispering sound. It brought scent with it. Skandar's nose picked it up automatically, sending him pictures of snow and pine trees and wet earth, and…

Skandar became still. He lifted his head, breathing in deeply through his nose. There was a strange scent on the wind, one he did not recognise. It was faint, but it was there, and for some reason it made his heart beat faster.

Skade had seen what he was doing. 'What's wrong?'

Skandar stood up slowly, sword in hand. 'I can smell something,' he said.

Skade stood too, sniffing. 'I can too,' she said at length.

Skandar glanced at her. 'What is it?'

Skade paused to scent the breeze again. 'I don't know. I'm not sure…'

'Something alive?' Skandar suggested. 'Maybe something we can eat.'

The sun was going down, and the shadows of the trees lengthened on the white ground. Skandar started to walk carefully in the general direction of the smell. Heading South.

Skade trailed after him. 'Be careful,' she warned. 'Don't go too far.'

Skandar followed the scent for a short time before he lost it again and came to a halt. 'It's gone,' he said.

Skade sighed and shook her head. 'It was probably nothing. Come on. We have to build a fire.'

Skandar stopped. 'Wait.'

'What?' said Skade.

He shook his head. 'I'm not sure. I just… have a feeling.'

'What feeling?' said Skade.

'I don't know,' said Skandar. 'Something. Like a scent in my head. You know?'

Skade shook her head at his hopeful expression. 'I don't know what you mean. We don't have time to waste, it's getting dark…'

But Skandar did not move. He stood rooted to the spot, staring intently at the shadows all about. The feeling had not left him. It was growing stronger. It was a prickling eeriness at the base of his spine, something he didn't understand but which frightened him.

Skade took him by the arm. 'Come on, Skandar,' she said gently. 'There's nothing here.'

And then they heard something that made them both freeze.

It was only faint, but it was unmistakeable. The sound of a brief, quiet laugh, coming from a shadow to the left.

Skandar turned. 'Who's there?'

Silence, and then they heard the laugh again, louder this time, coming from a spot to the right.

'Show yourself!' Skade snarled, turning to face it.

But there was nothing there but a shadow.

Skandar raised White Violence. 'Who's there?' he said again, his voice sounding high and strained.

And then…

'_I am the shadow that comes in the night…'_ a voice whispered.

Skandar went rigid. 'Father?' he called. 'Father, is that you?'

'_I am the fear that lurks in your heart…'_

Skade ran in the direction of the voice, but moments later it came again, this time from a spot just behind Skandar.

'_I am the rider on the wings of the storm…'_

The silver elf ran to and fro, searching desperately. 'Galbatorix! _Galbatorix!' _

Another laugh, and now the voice was in front of them. _'I am the one with the hole in his heart…'_

'Father!' Skandar yelled. 'Father, please, come out! Please!'

Silence.

'_I am the Shadow that Walks,'_ the voice said softly.

Skade, standing by the base of a tree, began to sob. 'Stop it! Just stop it! Please, Galbatorix, don't, don't…'

Skandar turned this way and that, staring at the shadows, trying desperately to find his father's shape. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Only emptiness and black shapes among the trees and the snow.

'Father!' he called. 'Father, where are you? _Father!'_

'I'm behind you,' the voice said.

Skandar turned, and his heart leapt into his mouth as he saw it. Saw the shape slide out onto the snow and take on the form of a tall man in a black robe, his long, curly hair hanging over his face.

Skade stood frozen for a moment, and then an expression of pure joy came over her face. 'Galbatorix!' she cried, and ran toward him.

The man looked up at her, and she stopped abruptly.

'Hello, Skade,' he said in a low voice.

Skade stood still, staring at him. 'Galbatorix?' she said again.

'Father?' said Skandar.

The man turned his face toward him, and Skandar saw it. It was a moment he would never forget until the end of his life. Everything seemed to stop around him. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. All he could do was stand there, his mind and body slowly filling with ice.

It was Galbatorix. They both knew him straight away. The angular face, the curly hair, the pointed goatee… it was him, unmistakeable.

But the slow smile spreading over his face was not his. And the eyes that looked out at them were not his eyes. They were dark blood red, cold and soulless and ghastly, like a pair of gaping wounds set into the face of the man they had once known.

Skandar stared into the eyes of a Shade.

'You did not seriously think that this would not happen, did you?' Galbatorix asked quietly. It was his voice, but not his voice. Slower. Lighter. The sharp Northern accent had gone.

Skade stepped slowly backward. 'Oh gods…'

'Father…' Skandar whispered.

The red eyes turned toward him. 'Your father is dead, boy,' Galbatorix told him in dispassionate tones. 'He died yesterday.' He looked at Skade again. 'The half-breed thought he could save you by killing himself. He was a fool right to the end. If you had stabbed him as he pleaded for you to, it would have destroyed me as well as him. But of course you did not do that. Your weakness cost you his freedom, and soon it will cost you everything else you have.' He paused, and sighed – not a weary sigh, or a regretful one, but a long, slow, peaceful one. It was almost joyful. He lifted his hands and ran them over his face, his chest and his arms, feeling them with his long fingers. 'This body… so perfect. Strong and beautiful, and powerful. I have wanted it for so long, and in the end the half-breed could not deny it to me. I will take far better care of it than he did.'

'Leave him alone!' Skade shouted. 'Get out of there! Give it back, curse you!'

'I cannot,' Galbatorix said matter-of-factly. 'There is no mind left in this body but my own. The last vestiges of the half-breed's soul fled into the void the moment he died.' He began to advance, very slowly. There was no trace of a limp. No shaking. He moved with perfect grace. 'Your beloved fell more than five hundred feet into that pit,' he intoned softly. 'The impact broke every bone in his body. He died in agony, drowning in his own blood.'

Skade started to sob. 'No… please gods no…'

'You mourn for him?' said Galbatorix. 'You feel pain for his demise, when it is his fault that you were out here at all, facing death from cold and starvation?'

'Yes,' Skade whispered.

Galbatorix paused. 'I would mock you,' he said quietly, 'But I cannot. I know what it is that you feel. I felt it myself, long ago, when I lost my Rangda. She was precious to me. When she died, I felt the only true pain that I have ever felt.' He reached out and touched her face, his cold fingers caressing her. 'I know what it is to love,' he said. 'And I know what it is to lose that love. And I know that madness that loss can bring, and the drive for revenge that it plants in the heart that is broken.'

'Then let him go,' Skade sobbed. 'Please, let him go. Give him back to me.'

Galbatorix stood still for a moment, withdrawing his hand, and then he suddenly struck her hard in the face. She screamed and staggered away, and then he was after her, red eyes ablaze, his deathly face twisting into a mad scream. 'Shadeslayer! _Shadeslayer!_ You killed Rangda! You took her away from me, you broke my heart! _YOU!_'

Skade retreated, trying desperately to shield herself, but she could not. Galbatorix hit her again, the brutal blow connecting with the side of her face. She would have fallen, but she collided with the trunk of a tree and he cornered her.

He wrapped his fingers around her neck, squeezing tightly. 'The void awaits you, Shadeslayer,' he whispered.

Skandar screamed and rushed at him. 'NO!'

Galbatorix half-turned, lashing out with his free hand and hitting Skandar hard in the chin. He fell, stars exploding in his vision.

But the momentary distraction was all Skade needed. She broke free of the Shade's grip and hurled herself forward, screaming. He staggered, caught off-balance, and she attacked him with all the ferocity of a wild dragon, her claws tearing at him.

The two of them rolled over in the snow, grappling with each other, the one screaming and berserk, the other eerily silent all the while.

Skandar felt pain throbbing inside his head as he got up. His jaw felt broken, but he managed to get to his knees, trying desperately to clear his vision. The sword had fallen out of his grasp, and the world was spinning around him.

He looked up and saw the struggle taking place. Skade had sunk her teeth into Galbatorix's arm and was biting down, but he acted as if he could not feel it at all. He wrenched it free and shoved hard, turning her over and pinning her down. She lashed out wildly at him, her claws cutting deep into his face and neck. His blood dripped onto her, getting into her eyes, but he did not falter. He could not feel pain.

Skade was crying as she hit him, trying to get out from underneath him, but she could not escape. There was nowhere to escape to.

'Please,' she said. 'Please, don't. Please…'

Skandar struggled to his feet and ran toward the sword, lying in the snow. He picked it up and tried to heft it, but it was so heavy, and he was so weak…

Skade's face was sticky with blood. She shoved desperately at Galbatorix, still trying to force him away, but her strength was failing her and she sobbed harder. 'Please, Galbatorix, please, fight him. You have to fight. Please, Galbatorix, you have to stop him!'

Galbatorix's distorted face filled her vision, red eyes ablaze. 'He cannot fight me,' his voice hissed, as his hands closed around her neck. 'There is nothing left to fight.'

Skandar managed to lift the sword, and staggered toward them, the point dragging on the ground. He saw it all happening as if in slow motion. Saw Galbatorix's hands clamp around Skade's neck. Saw her begin to thrash wildly beneath him. Saw her start to die.

Skandar reached them and stopped. Galbatorix had not seen him, and he lifted the sword high over his head and brought it down as hard as he could.

The white blade hit Galbatorix in the back, slashing through his robe and inflicting a deep wound on the pale skin beneath. Blood began to pour out of it almost at once as Skandar staggered sideways, dragged off-balance by the weight of the sword.

Galbatorix snarled and squeezed harder.

Skade's eyes were wide open, staring straight into his, her mouth open in a desperate gasp for air. She had begun to jerk and twitch beneath him, convulsing. Skandar struck again, this time with the point of the sword, but he did not have the strength to drive it in properly, and Galbatorix did not falter.

Skade began to go limp. Then she suddenly started to thrash all the harder, flailing desperately at him, her whole body contorting. But then that too died away. She went rigid for a moment as the light in her eyes faded, and then she did not move again.

Skandar saw his mother's body become still, and he faltered. 'No-,'

Galbatorix got up slowly, letting go of the elf's throat. She lay limply on the snow, her silver hair fluttering softly in the wind.

Skandar backed away as Galbatorix turned toward him, the sword a great weight in his hand, dragging him down.

Galbatorix watched him disinterestedly. 'You think you can use that sword, boy?'

Skandar looked past him, toward Skade. 'Mother! Mother, please get up!'

But Skade did not move.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Didn't your father teach you anything, little half-breed? Didn't he tell you that we don't feel pain? Did you think striking me in the back with that sword would have any effect?'

Skandar managed to lift the sword. 'You stab a Shade through the heart,' he said.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes. Right here.' He indicated his chest. His robe had been torn open, and Skandar could see the skin underneath. Long, deep scars stretched across it.

Galbatorix advanced on him. 'Well?' he said. 'What do you say to that, boy? Do you have the courage to do it? Can you kill your own father?'

Skandar began to sob. 'Father, please stop it, please…'

Galbatorix sighed. 'You do not have your father's strength. You have the blood of great warriors in your veins, and yet you failed to save your mother. You must have been a great disappointment to him.' He raised his hand, fingers spread. 'Goodbye, little half-breed. _Ladd hon blentyn!'_

His voice rose as he spoke the dark elvish words, and his body tensed as if he expected something to happen. But nothing did.

He paused, looking slightly confused, and then tried again. '_Mai addoed bwra 'i i lawr!_'

Nothing happened.

Dismay began to show in Galbatorix's twisted face. He flung out his hand toward Skandar, as if to throw something at him, and spoke in the ancient language. '_Drepa þesi sveinn!_'

It was a spell. But though Galbatorix spoke the words over and over again, with increasing desperation, nothing happened and no magic came forth.

Galbatorix stared blankly at his hands. 'My magic. _Where is my magic?_' He froze suddenly. 'No. No, that can't… that root he ate before he died… _NO!'_ The Shade staggered backward, his impassive face contorting into a look of pure, white-hot hatred and fury. 'NO!' he screamed. 'Curse you, you liar, you cripple, you half-breed scum, _CURSE YOU!'_

Skandar took his chance, and ran.

But there was nowhere to run to. Footsteps came up fast behind him as he ran, and even as he tried to dodge something struck him hard in the back, throwing him violently forward. He hit the ground hard, the sword flying out of his hand, and before he could get up another blow caught him in the stomach, flipping him over and sending him tumbling sideways. He came to rest against a tree, groaning, and then Galbatorix was there, lifting him up by the front of his robe. 'If I cannot kill you with magic, then I shall kill you with my hands,' he snarled.

Skandar tried desperately to break free, but his father's hands wrapped themselves around his neck and began to squeeze, tighter and tighter. He began to choke, mouth opening wide to gasp in air, but Galbatorix squeezed harder, crushing his windpipe.

Skandar grabbed at his wrists, slashing at him with his claws, but it was hopeless. He did not have the strength to break free. And, as the desperate seconds stretched out unbearably, he felt himself starting to die. He could not breathe. His vision was beginning to go grey, flashing red with the pain pulsing inside his head. He could feel his own heart fluttering, more and more feebly, like a dying bird. He knew that he would be dead soon.

A strange calm came over him. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he thought he could hear his father's voice; deep and strong and reassuring. _How do you kill a Shade, Skandar? How do you kill…?_

Skandar's eyes flicked open. In a split second he saw the dagger that hung from Galbatorix's belt and reached out for it, groping desperately. His fingers closed around the hilt, and he pulled.

Galbatorix had not realised what he was doing. 'Curse you, half-breed,' he rasped, his red eyes burning. _'Curse you!'_

All the strength was going out of Skandar's limbs. He hung from the Shade's grip, eyes beginning to glaze over, a coldness spreading through his body. With one last, wild effort, he drew the dagger back and stabbed it straight into Galbatorix's chest.

The red eyes, still looking into his, widened suddenly, and the hands holding onto his neck slackened. That was the last thing Skandar remembered.


	12. Weredragon

**Chapter Twelve**

**Weredragon**

Cold, it was cold. So cold. He could feel it biting into him, spreading through his body like blood. It put pain into him; horrible and burning, as if he were on fire.

He thought he could hear rapid, wounded breathing coming from somewhere, and his limbs seemed to be trying to move themselves, vaguely and weakly, as if he were a baby. He could not remember where he was or what was going on around him, but the cold surrounded him, hurting him, and he wanted to get away from it, run away to some place where it was warm and safe.

He groaned and opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was whiteness. Snow. But there was a strange red stain on it in the spot where he had lain, and the sight of it put fear and energy into him. As he struggled to get up, a voice spiralled and whispered in his head. _I am the Shadow that Walks, the Shadow that Walks, the Shadow…_

He dragged himself to his knees and rubbed his forehead, trying to revive himself, and the voice faded away. It had not been Laela's, or Durza's. It was only his own.

And then, as he took his hands away from his face, he saw it. Saw the vivid red stains that had run over his fingers and soaked into his sleeves. His heart began to pound sickeningly as he rubbed his hands on his robe, trying to make the stains come off, but even as he did he raised his head, looking desperately for any sign of help.

There was something dark lying on the snow only a few paces away. It wasn't moving. He got up and ran to it, forgetting everything else, and then he was grabbing at it, trying to turn it over, crying out in a voice that was high and strained with terror.

'_Father! FATHER!'_

Galbatorix's arm flopped limply onto the snow as Skandar turned his body over, the hand landing palm-up with the fingers uncurled. It was his right hand, but the silver dragon-mark had been erased from the palm.

Skandar touched his face. It was cold. 'Father! Father!'

The black veins had gone. The eyes, still half-open, were no longer red but had changed back to black, and the expression was slack and lifeless.

Skandar tried to lift him out of the snow. 'Father. Father, please wake up. Please!'

But he did not have the strength to lift him. And, as he fell back onto the snow, he saw the dagger still embedded in his heart.

'No. No, Father, please, I didn't… I couldn't… I…'

He grabbed the hilt and pulled it out. It came free easily enough. The blade was slick and dark with blood. Skandar threw it away and pulled at his father's hand.

'Please! Please, you have to wake up! Please, don't leave me here! _Father!_'

Galbatorix's hand was cold and motionless, and his face, still scratched and bloodied by Skade's claws, looked somehow empty, as if it were just a thing now.

Skandar let go and stumbled away through the trees, tears running down his face. He found Skade lying a short distance away, the snow around her churned up by her last struggles. Her neck was bruised purple by Galbatorix's hands, and the sword-cut across her body had reopened during the fight and soaked blood into her clothes. Her eyes were still wide open, staring at the sky, but their fierce gold had faded and become blank and dim. Skandar lifted her by the shoulder and held onto her, hugging her to him. 'Mother. No… no…'

He stayed like that for a long time, clutching his mother's body and crying silently. The sun was going down, and it was growing darker and colder among the trees. Icy wind ruffled his hair and tugged gently at his robe, as if urging him to follow it, but he remained unaware of it.

The stars had begun to come out when he finally let go. The wind had died down, and snow began to drift silently down through the reaching branches of the trees.

Skandar walked back slowly toward where his father's body lay. It had stiffened now, and the limbs barely moved as he gripped it by the shoulders and laboriously dragged it away over the snow. He stopped to rest several times, but finally reached the spot where Skade was, and laid it down there so that the two bodies lay side-by-side. He found White Violence, resting against the base of a tree, and brought it over too, placing it next to his father's body along with the crown. Then he sat down next to them, still and silent, staring blankly at the mortal remains of his parents.

The snow continued to fall. It began to pile up, slowly covering the two bodies. It gathered in Galbatorix's beard, and formed tiny, pure-white mounds in Skade's hair. Skandar brushed it away, almost angrily, but more was falling now, blowing into his face and blinding him. He could see it starting to build up around them, burying them, making them disappear. He began to sob as he scrabbled at the snow, shovelling it away from them, trying to make them stay. But the snow fell, thicker and thicker, until he could no longer see his mother's hands, until his father's robe had turned white and his legs vanished. They were vanishing, fading away, leaving him…

'No, no, no, no…'

Skandar could just hear his own voice crying out, broken and weakening as his hands grew numb and would not move properly and a powerful wave of some feeling he did not recognise or understand swept over him, cold and crippling.

The wind gathered its strength. From somewhere high overhead, he heard a dull rumbling of thunder and the snow poured down, more and more of it all the time. Soon he could no longer see the trees, or the sky. His desperate bid to keep the snow away faltered and failed, and he began to search the ground beside him, feeling urgently for something. His fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, and a moment later he found the crown and pulled it free. He huddled down by the white mound that marked his father's last resting-place and clutched the two objects tightly, head bowed, trying to withstand the storm. The snow was building up around his legs. It was going to bury him too. He would disappear, just like his parents, lying there under the snow together, all cold and still, and there was no-one here to help him now, no-one to protect him or keep him warm or take him away from here, to a place where he could be safe again. The dream had come true. It was real. It had come true.

When he knew that, when he looked at the blank whiteness where his parents had been, something inside him finally broke.

Skandar lifted his face toward the sky, and screamed.

The scream grew louder and louder, building in his chest. He let it tear itself out of his throat, like a dagger being pulled from a wound. It was more than a cry; it was a release. Something was being let out, set free from a prison that had confined it for too long. He screamed and screamed, giving voice to all his anger and grief and fear and pain and never wanting to stop. Somehow, some part of him was convinced that for as long as it lasted he would stay alive, and that if he stopped he would die. But no, no, it wasn't just an idea, it was true, for as he screamed he could feel the cold going out of his body. He felt warm now, wonderfully warm, and then he felt hot, as if he were burning inside. But it didn't hurt.

And then the pain hit him. His scream faltered and then broke out afresh, given a note of panic and terror. He jerked violently, pain ripping through his upper back. The crown fell out of his grasp, and his other hand gripped White Violence's blade until it cut into him and he began to bleed. He fell forward onto the snow, convulsing, his body twisting and stretching against its will. His robe tore apart, and pieces of shredded cloth blew away in the wind as Skandar's scream suddenly warped and deepened and then became a deep roar. His claws lengthened, melding with his fingers to become huge, curved black talons. Dark grey scales erupted through his skin, and his spine extended itself, growing into a tail and a long, flexible neck. His face bulged forward into a snout, and six long, curling horns spiked out of the back of his skull. Spikes grew along his spine and wings emerged from his upper back, widening and lengthening as silvery membrane grew between the vanes, creating a broad flying surface. Skandar's mouth remained wide open, the teeth growing huge and serrated as he roared. When the transformation was done he slumped down, his roar dying away, black eyes closing.

He lay there for a long time, unmoving. The snowstorm raged on around him, the wind dragging at his wings, but the snow could not bury him now. It melted as soon as it landed on his scales, and water trickled down his flanks. But Skandar did not wake up.

When the storm died down, hours later, and a ghostly moon became visible from behind the clouds still drifting across it, the great grey dragon that Skandar had become stirred and moaned.

Skandar opened his eyes. Everything looked different. The trees all around were black and featureless; solid shadows in the night. He could only just see the snow that had heaped up around him – it looked virtually identical to the grey haze of the sky, which the moon illuminated only very dimly. He wondered vaguely if he was going blind.

He tried to rub at his eyes, and confusion instantly slammed into his mind. His body felt wrong. His fingers were rigid talons, his head had changed shape, his skin was hard and inflexible, and when he opened his mouth to cry out the sound that emerged was a guttural snarl.

For a moment he lay very still, his heart thumping. It sounded very loud. His wings unfolded slightly, the membranes rustling. There was something wrong in his mind. He didn't feel like a boy any more, neither inside nor outside. His thoughts seemed to move differently, and there was a strange calmness in him now. But the sensation was not unfamiliar. He _knew _this. He had felt like this before.

His panic started to leave him and he got up, standing on all fours now. His long neck arched as he nosed at himself, examining his changed body. He was huge now; many times bigger than a person. His legs were short and muscular, his back a hunched spring, his tail long and flexible, tapering to a perfect point. And he had wings… he opened them, his new mind knowing how to make them move. They were sleek and streamlined, each one nearly as long as his entire body, the membranes supported by long, bony fingers tipped with sharp talons. This was a body he had known once before, months ago, when he had had his strange second birth, from the egg his grandfather had placed him in to protect him. But it was much bigger now, and stronger.

Skandar looked up at the sky. He still could not see it properly. But he shouldn't be able to. Most dragons were virtually blind at night, unless the moon was bright. Laela had told him that…

Recollection hit him like a physical blow. He brought his head back down again, searching the ground around him. But there was nothing there. No sign of the bodies. They had utterly vanished, as if they had never existed at all.

'No!'

The word came out as a low, hoarse snarl. Skandar began to claw at the snow, sweeping it aside with his talons, but everything looked the same. He didn't know where to dig, and as he redoubled his efforts he suddenly stopped and sat back on his haunches. No. Best to let them stay there, undisturbed together.

As he turned away, his forepaws sank down through the snow at the spot where he had lain. As he extracted them, his talons clinked against something. He paused, confused, and scooped away a few pawfuls of snow, searching.

It was the sword. It gleamed very faintly as he pulled it out of the snow, handling it clumsily with his talons. He could make out its outline very faintly, and when he realised what it was he felt a sharp pain in his throat. He pushed it aside as carefully as he could and continued to dig until he unearthed the crown, hooking it with a talon. It looked tiny and fragile; a little black ring just visible against the snow. But Skandar knew he could not leave it. He nudged it over toward the sword and wrapped one forepaw around both objects, holding them as tightly as he dared. The crown threatened to slip between his talons, but he put one of the slimmer ones through it and it dangled from his paw as he slowly hobbled away on three legs.

He did not look back, but left the forest in the direction of the plains beyond the mountains, leaving the grave of his parents behind. Once he was in the open he stopped. There was a breeze blowing over the plains, only slight compared to the howling wind that had come before, but he could feel it catching at his wings. He opened them, spreading the fingers as wide as he could so that the pale membrane was stretched out. His new body knew how to use them. Holding them out rigidly from his sides, he went into a clumsily, shuffling run, his talons ploughing up the snow in little puffs of white. He started to beat his wings, harder and harder, until they began to lift him, and once he was moving fast enough his back legs kicked off hard from the ground, launching him into the air. For a heart-stopping moment he was hanging in midair, wings thrashing, but then he caught the air and began to rise, up and up, leaving the snow-covered ground far below.

He levelled out, angling his wings to steady himself, and then he was flying. True flight, that carried him effortlessly over the plains, riding the wind-currents, his legs curled beneath him.

He risked a glance down, and suddenly realised how high up he was, and for a moment he started to panic. His flight became unsteady as he started to thrash his wings, terrified of falling. But his dragon's mind knew what to do. Instinct rose up, calming him down and forcing him to slow back to a glide, wings only beating occasionally to keep up his momentum.

His heartbeat slowed. It was all right. He knew how to fly. He was flying.

The snowy plains passed below him. Above the sky began to clear and the moon shone through, its white light striking the grey dragon's silvery wings. He could see more clearly now. The mountains were gone, and there was nothing below him but endless snow. No food. No shelter. Nothing but a barren waste.

But Skandar did not turn back. He did not want to go back to those mountains, or the lands that lay between them and the coast where Laela had first brought him, so long ago. He did not want to return to Sealord. It was a place for humans, and he was not human.

So he flew on, not knowing or caring where he was going, his dragon's strength bearing him on. Heading North.

The sun rose. Skandar saw it from above; its golden light shining on his face and the ground below, making the snow sparkle. He had been flying over the plains for three days since leaving the mountains. Three days without food. His dragon's body had the strength to survive with a minimum of food, but nevertheless he could feel the hunger biting at him. He curled up on the snow at night to rest, and every dawn took to the air once again. Flying had become easier and easier over time, but he took no joy in it. His new body, too, was becoming more familiar to him, and it had to. After three days, he was showing no sign of changing back. He went to sleep as a dragon, and woke up as one. By now he was having trouble remembering what it had been like to be elf-shaped, but he did not care. It was easier this way. Easy to have a dragon's strength and a dragon's endurance, and a dragon's quiet stoicism.

The landscape still had not changed much, but he did not care. He spent most of his waking hours in the air, pushing himself as hard as he could and landing only when it became too dark to continue. When the moon became full he even began flying at night, not caring that he was wearing himself down. He welcomed the exhaustion he soon began to feel all the time, and took a kind of twisted pleasure from the way it slowed his thoughts and dulled his memory. He did not want to think. He did not want to remember. And when he slept, he did not want to dream.

But now, on the dawning of the fourth day, as the sun rose, his vision – much stronger over long distances than before – allowed him to see something that had not been visible the night before. It was only small and slight, but very prominent against the perfect flatness of the plains.

There was a dark smudge on the horizon. And, as Skandar drew closer, he knew what it was. Mountains.

He felt no joy or excitement; only a kind of tired resignation. His journey was nearly over.

As the mountains began to take shape, he began to get an idea of their scale. They were a little smaller than the last range he had seen, and though the caps were white with snow their lower slopes were dark with what he first thought was bare rock but eventually realised was vegetation. They were fertile.

It was late afternoon when he finally reached them. He soared wearily over the outer peaks, drifting lower so that he could see them properly. They were full of valleys and rivers, and he could see thick, lush plant life growing among them. Trees, tall and strong, grew between the peaks and along the bases of cliffs among rock formations. To Skandar, it looked like a kind of paradise.

He landed atop a low peak that overlooked a pass leading through the mountains and rested there, surveying the area. Warm air, lush with the mingled scents of plants and clean water, blew gently onto his face, and he breathed deeply, savouring it. He could smell animals, too. Food.

He angled his neck downward to look at the pass, thinking that there might be deer down there. Its floor was carpeted with grass, and ferns grew out of the cliff walls that closed it in on both sides. There didn't look to be anything down there, though.

Skandar took off again and flew away, gliding low over the pass and watching it hopefully. It went a long way, weaving among the mountains. There was a clear track along the bottom of it, smooth and flat, undisturbed by trees or thick bushes. The only vegetation in it were grass and ferns. Skandar thought that was a little odd, but he shrugged it off. It would be good grazing land for deer or goats or other large animals.

But he found nothing, and after a while his weariness began to tell. The pass below finally petered out, opening up into the beginnings of a large valley, and he landed on a clifftop at its edge and flopped down, breathing harshly.

A grey haze was closing over his mind. He was so tired… he felt as if he had been tired all his life. He had never stopped travelling, not since the day of his birth. He had never stopped running. He had never had a home.

The grey dragon groaned and coughed. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but he knew he should eat first. If there was just something here he could catch…

He lifted his head and sniffed at the air, breathing in deeply. The breeze brought him scents of pine trees and stone and damp earth and leafmold, and the faint tang of woodsmoke.

Skandar growled softly and sniffed again. It was unmistakeable. Smoke. It was coming from somewhere further North.

His heart beat faster. Forgetting his hunger and tiredness, he wrapped his talons more securely around their burden and took off once more, flying low over the mountains, following the faint, tantalising scent.

It led him among more peaks, following the valley and the river that flowed through it, until the mountains petered out and he was past them and into the land beyond.

Skandar felt as if he had been struck in the chest. He made a heavy, clumsy landing right at the edge of the mountains and stood there, one forepaw curled against his belly, staring and staring at what awaited him on the far side of the mountains.

There, carved into the sides of five great peaks and spreading down into the deep valley beyond, was a city.

Smoke drifted into the sky from the houses in the valley. They were made from stone and had high, peaked roofs. Trees grew everywhere among them, and he could see herds of animals wandering here and there. And he could see people, too – their dark shapes tiny from this distance. Closer to, the mountain-peaks had been carved to form great spires and towers, and streets had been cut into the living stone, weaving among smaller buildings carved or built into their gently sloping sides. He could hear the voices of the inhabitants, just faintly, and catch their scent.

A strange rush of emotion suddenly came over him. People, there were people. He was not lost any more.

Without even thinking, he leapt from his perch and flew out over the city, circling as low as he dared, watching the houses and the people below. They saw him soon enough; he could see them running about in fright, and hear the shouts. But he did not care. He opened his mouth wide and roared.

He wanted to land, but the trees in the valley were too thick. So he turned himself toward the mountains again and flew lower, searching for a place. The central and tallest mountain had the fewest buildings on it. Much of it was carved into what looked like a kind of fortress, or half of one, embedded in the mountainside. There were slitted windows in it, and guard towers, and at its highest point there was a silver spire that supported a round, burnished metal shape. But there was a wide expanse of flat ground in front of it.

Skandar folded his wings and dived, aiming for that spot. He was moving a little too fast, and his right forepaw was still encumbered, and he landed awkwardly, hitting the ground hard and stumbling a little way before he collapsed. The landing was more painful than he had expected. His snout struck the wall of the fortress with an unpleasant _crack,_ and stars exploded in his vision. He made an attempt to get up but then slumped onto his stomach, groaned and lay still.

He blacked out for a few moments, and woke up weak and aching in every limb. Before he even opened his eyes he could hear a babble of voices around him. People had come to see him; he could smell them. When he opened his eyes the hubbub rose a little higher, and he saw them backing away. He squinted at them. His vision was wavering, and he felt confused.

There was a shout from somewhere to his left, followed by more shouting. It was in some language he did not understand, and he tried to raise his head to look, and then…

'_I mean you no harm.'_

The voice was in his head. A jolt of panic went through him, and his tail lashed.

'_You are safe,'_ the voice said again. _'Please, do not panic. There are people here and they could be hurt.'_

Skandar lay still. _'Who are you? What is this place? _Where_ are you?' _

'_I am here, in front of you,'_ said the voice. _'Raise your eyes, dragon.'_

Skandar looked up, and saw that there was someone standing over him. It was a tall, thin man clad in a black robe and leggings. He had a pale, angular face and a pointed black beard, and his neatly-combed hair was also black. His eyes too were black, glittering and intelligent, and his stance was regal and dignified.

Pain and confusion began to burn in Skandar's chest, and he struggled to get up, his claws scrabbling at the stone. _'Father!'_

The man withdrew slightly. _'Please, calm down,'_ he said. _'You are tired and wounded, and you need help. I am arranging for food to be brought to you.'_

Tears began to wet Skandar's scales. _'Father, it's me. It's Skandar. Please, you have to remember me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'_

The man came a little closer, his expression puzzled. _'Your name is Skandar?'_

'_Yes. It's me, Father. Please, don't you know me?'_

'_I am not your father, dragon,'_ the man's voice told him gently. _'You are exhausted and you must sleep.'_

Skandar slumped back. There was no recognition in the man's face. _'How did you get here?'_

'_I have always been here,'_ said the man. _'This is my home. My name is King Orgetorix, and this is the city of Hen Addef. You are welcome here, Skandar.'_

Skandar stared at him, and then, as his vision cleared, he began to see other things. See the man's pointed ears, and the crown that rested on his head. See the people around him; their black robes, pale faces and black eyes and hair. Dozens of Galbatorixes. But older, younger, male and female, with pointed ears and straight hair, all black-robed and silent and mysterious.

One of them brought a bucket of water, and he opened his jaws and let them pour the contents into his mouth. It was pure and clean, and it revived him.

His right paw was trapped under his body. He lifted himself as well as he could, trying to pull it free. Orgetorix backed away warily, and several people hurried to place themselves protectively in front of him, but Skandar paid no attention. He managed to extend his right foreleg toward the King.

'_Berthyna at 'ch chrau a Anercha 'ch fel brawd a chyfaill,'_ he growled.

Orgetorix pushed his way past his attendants, staring intently at him. _'What did you say?'_

Skandar breathed deeply, his wings trembling slightly. _'Berthyna at 'ch chrau a Anercha 'ch fel brawd a chyfaill,'_ he repeated, and let his talons uncurl.

The sword and the crown fell out onto the ground with a faint clang.

Several of the assembled dark elves cried out.

Orgetorix came forward, moving slowly and carefully, and picked up the crown, holding it tightly in his long fingers. He stared at Skandar. _'Where did you find this?'_ he asked softly. _'And this… what is this?'_ he was picking up the sword now.

Sudden fear gripped Skandar. _'No!' _he half-shouted. _'Don't take it! It's mine! It's-,'_

He broke off and groaned. Something felt wrong inside him.

'_This crown cannot be yours,'_ said Orgetorix. _'It belongs to the dark elves, and you are no dark elf. Who taught you those words?'_

'_I am a dark elf,'_ said Skandar. _'I am… I am…'_

And then he could not speak any more. His mental voice fell silent, and when he tried to get up his body would not obey him. Without warning, without his direction, it began to change.

He felt his scales recede into his body. His horns shrank into tiny nubs and then were gone, his talons shortened, his tail withered back into nothingness and his wings began to fold themselves into his back. He rolled onto his side, moaning in pain, his body growing smaller and smaller, shedding its dragonish strength. His hair regrew, and his ears, and his face flattened once more. He could hear the cries of shock from the onlookers, but he could do nothing. The form of the dragon melted away from him like snow in the sun, and then it was all over and he was lying there on the cold stone, naked and shivering.

Dead silence had fallen. But it did not last forever.

A voice spoke sharply in dark elvish; it was deep and strong and authoritative, and though he did not understand it he knew it belonged to King Orgetorix. A few moments later there were hands, lifting him by his shoulders. Something warm and soft was wrapped around him as he stood up, cold and trembling. He half-turned as he was led toward the fortress, his gaze fixed on King Orgetorix, who was following him from a distance, reaching a hand toward him. 'Give them back,' he said. 'Please, give them back, they're mine…'

'Be calm,' one of the dark elves soothed. 'Come.'

Skandar was too weak to resist. They half-carried him into the fortress, and he saw very little of his surroundings as they went past. He was taken into a room where there was a bed, and gently laid down on it with several blankets over him.

'Please,' he mumbled. 'Give them back… please…'

A cup was pressed against his lower lip. 'Here. Drink it. It will ease you.'

It was warm and sweet, and he swallowed it without protest. Almost instantly, he slipped into sleep.


	13. Hen Addef

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Hen Addef**

Skandar woke up feeling warm and comfortable, and safe. He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was the ceiling above him. It was dark grey stone, carved into an elegant dome, and a lantern made from blue glass hung from it on a length of chain.

There was no hard ground beneath him, and no cold breeze. He was warm and dry, lying in a soft bed. He had never slept in a place like this before in his life.

Feeling strangely calm, he sighed and turned his head to look at his surroundings. He was in a small stone room, decorated with wall hangings and a thick rug on the floor. There was a chair and a little table by his bed, with a jug of water and a mug resting on it.

He managed to sit up and reached for the jug, but his paw was clumsy and he couldn't grip the handle properly. He peered at it, slightly puzzled, trying to remember why he didn't have talons any more. Hadn't he had talons… before…?

The door opened, and he started nervously. Someone came in, walking silently. It was a woman, clad in a black robe, her long hair decorated with silver beads. She was carrying a bowl, and she paused when she saw he was awake.

Then she smiled and came closer, bringing the bowl. '_Da bore. Ach i mewn da hiachâd?_'

Skandar stared at her. 'I don't understand,' he said.

She gave him a slightly puzzled look. 'Do you not speak dark elvish, little one?' She had reverted to the human tongue now, which she spoke with a slightly harsh, nasal accent.

Skandar shook his head silently.

'I am sorry,' said the woman. 'But I had assumed that… it does not matter. I have brought you some food.'

The bowl was full of dark red berries. Skandar managed to pick one up, and ate it cautiously. It burst the instant he bit down on it, filling his mouth with sweet juice, and he moaned softly in delight.

The woman smiled. 'You like it?'

Skandar nodded, and eagerly took the bowl when she offered it to him. He ate the rest of the contents as fast as he could, forgetting manners in his hunger.

The woman watched him. 'You have not eaten in a long time.'

It was a flat statement, not a question, but Skandar nodded anyway, unable to speak as he chewed. He ate the last of the berries and then gave the bowl back. 'May I have some more?'

She shook her head. 'Not now. You are starved. Too much food at once would make you ill. Rest a while and drink some water, and I shall bring you more later.'

Skandar lay back resignedly. 'What is this place?'

'This is the castle of King Orgetorix,' said the woman. 'You are in the city of Hen Addef. Normally we do not allow outsiders into our home, but you have been given permission. The King has a great interest in you.'

Skandar went cold. 'My sword,' he said. 'My crown. Where are they?'

'The King has them in his possession,' said the woman. 'They are safe.'

'I want them back,' said Skandar. 'They're mine.'

'That is not for me to decide,' said the woman. 'The King has ordered for you to be sent to him once you are recovered, and you may discuss it with him then.'

'Can I go to him now?' said Skandar.

'It is too soon,' said the woman. 'You must rest until tomorrow at least.'

'I feel fine,' said Skandar, trying to get up. He knew right away that he wasn't fine. His arms and legs felt heavy, and his entire body ached and refused to move properly. But the urge to reclaim his belongings was strong enough to stop him from caring.

The woman pushed him back down. 'Be still,' she said. 'Please, do not try and get up. Your sword is not going to be thrown away. It will be waiting for you when you are well again.'

'Please, I want it back,' Skandar said again. 'It's mine. I promised to look after it, I…'

'You are very weak,' the woman said more gently. 'You have come closer to death than you realise. Sleep now, and I will bring you more food when you wake.'

Her motherly tone almost made Skandar angry, but the feeling soon faded, and his resistance went with it. He lay back resignedly and drank the water his carer offered him, and shortly after that he slept once more.

He spent much of that day asleep, waking only briefly, and dreamed strange and unconnected dreams. Dreams of snow and cold, and wind, and blood. More than once he woke up sweating and shivering, his heart pounding, but his weakness overrode his fear and he slept again, woke and slept again. The elvish woman came again and gave him more food; apples, this time, and cheese. He had to eat them slowly at her insistence, but his stomach churned unpleasantly afterward. It wasn't yet ready for food.

Next day he woke up feeling much better. His carer, who had told him her name was Aera, came to visit him again after he had been awake for a few hours. She was carrying a bundle of black cloth over her arm, and had brought him a bowl of something.

'Do you feel stronger now?' she enquired.

Skandar nodded. 'But I'm hungry.'

'Eat, then. You may see the King today. He is impatient to speak with you.'

The bowl contained something that vaguely resembled gruel or soup. He tasted it cautiously and found it had a rich, creamy taste.

'_Dafad-godra_,' said Aera. 'Good for the sick.' Once he had finished it she took the bowl and draped the bundle of cloth over the back of the chair. 'I shall leave you to dress yourself,' she said, and left.

Skandar pushed back the blankets. To his shame, he found he was still naked underneath. He cast a cautious glance toward the now-closed door and then very carefully slid out of bed. His feet hit the rug and he stood there, swaying a little and steadying himself by leaning on the bed. Once he was more confident he reached for the bundle and laid it out on the blankets. It was a black robe, cut to fit someone of his stature, and folded up with it was a pair of black leggings.

Skandar stared at them, suddenly aware of the ache in his throat. He reached out to touch the robe. It was made of thick woollen felt, and the inside was lined with soft cloth. _A ddua chlogyn, woven from the wool of mountain sheep,_ his father's voice whispered. _Every dark elf wears one._

Skandar pulled the robe to him, clutching it to his chest, his insides burning. His fingers entwined themselves in the cloth, gripping it as if he were afraid it would disappear. The ache inside him grew and spread until he thought he would burst with it. He wanted to cry. But nothing happened. No tears came. He could feel them inside him, but they did not want to come and his eyes remained dry. He could not cry.

When Aera returned she found him sitting quietly on the chair by the bed, now fully clad, his expression calm and still. He had found the comb she'd left on the table and had reordered his hair, which now hung in neat curls around his thin face. He looked up when she came in, but said nothing.

Aera held out the pair of boots she was holding. 'Here, you will need these.'

Skandar took them and put them on, fumbling a little with the laces, and when he was done he stood up and gave her an expectant look. 'Do we go now?'

She nodded. 'Here, take my arm. Do not try and walk too quickly.'

He let her lead him out of the room, still shaky on his legs, embarrassed to let her support him but accepting her help regardless. She led him through stone passageways and richly furnished rooms, all warm and clean and well-lit. He saw brightly-coloured tapestries and jewelled ornaments and furniture carved from exquisite wood. And everywhere they went there were elves. Dark elves, all robed, turning to watch him curiously as he went past.

Aera came to a halt in front of a large pair of doors whose handles were made in the shape of silver moons. There were two armed guards standing by it, but they opened the doors when she spoke briefly to them in dark elvish and she and Skandar entered.

Beyond was a round, high-ceilinged chamber. There was a carved pit in the middle of the floor, protected by a beautifully-wrought iron cage. A black fire was burning inside.

On the wall opposite was a huge silver tapestry that showed the different phases of the moon in a ring, surrounded by a starry sky. In front of that was a stone table and a high-backed chair. Orgetorix was sitting in it, watching them enter.

Aera paused in the doorway. 'Now, you must speak respectfully to the King,' she said.

Skandar nodded. 'I know.'

'Good. Address him as "Frenin" and do not speak out of turn or question him. He will tell you what he chooses to, understand?'

'Yes.'

She nodded again and led him to the table, halting when they were close enough. She bowed her head toward Orgetorix. '_Chyrchais 'r bachgen, 'm Frenin._'

Orgetorix inclined his head. '_Adawoch, ni._'

'_Do, Frenin_,' said Aera. She gently steered Skandar toward the chair opposite that of the King and then left.

Skandar made no move to follow her. The sword and the crown were resting on the table in front of Orgetorix, and he stared fixedly at them, wanting to reach out and take them.

Orgetorix indicated the chair. 'Please, sit.' He spoke human quite well, but with a stronger and sharper version of Galbatorix's own accent.

Skandar obeyed, his eyes still on the sword.

Orgetorix had noticed. He pulled the sword toward himself, running his long fingers over the white blade. 'An exquisite weapon,' he remarked. 'I have never seen its like before. And this symbol…' he touched the blade just below the hilt, where there was a triple spiral etched into it. Just above that were the words "Hvítr Atganga". 'What language is this?' the King asked, fixing Skandar with a penetrating stare.

Skandar tried not to look at him. 'It's the ancient language,' he mumbled.

'"Ancient language"?' Orgetorix repeated. 'What ancient language? What race speaks it?'

Skandar said nothing.

Orgetorix sighed and picked up the crown. 'I am sorry. You are still weak from your ordeal, and I should not make you talk too much. How do you feel? Are you stronger now?'

Skandar nodded. 'Yes, _Frenin_.'

Orgetorix looked pleased. 'I am glad to hear it. You slept for nearly an entire day before you woke at all; some of my healers feared you would die. But it seems you are stronger than you look. So… your name is Skandar?'

'Yes, _Frenin.'_

Orgetorix was giving him a slow, searching look. 'I must ask you this, and please forgive me for it, but are you a dark elf?'

Skandar hesitated. 'I don't… know.'

'The question should be simple enough,' said Orgetorix. 'Were your parents dark elves?'

Skandar felt something shudder inside him. 'My father.'

'So you are a half-breed?' said Orgetorix.

_Half-breed._ Skandar stiffened. 'No.'

'There is nothing to fear,' Orgetorix said gently. 'We do not condemn half-breeds. We suspected you were one, from your appearance. I ask merely out of curiosity. But if your father was a dark elf, then you are one of us.'

Skandar relaxed slightly. 'Please may I have my sword back?'

'In due time,' said Orgetorix. 'Please, tell me about yourself. Where were you born? Who were your parents?'

Skandar said nothing.

'Can you at least tell me your full name?' Orgetorix persisted. 'What is your tribe name?'

'Tribe name?' said Skandar.

'What tribe do you belong to?' said Orgetorix.

'I don't understand,' said Skandar.

Orgetorix paused, turning the crown over in his fingers. 'I am Orgetorix Llewellyni. I am of the blood of Llewellyn. That is my tribe. All my forebears were called Llewellyni. What is your tribe, Skandar?'

The King was asking for his full name. Skandar hesistated for a long moment. 'I… my name…'

'You may tell me,' said Orgetorix. 'You will not be harmed. You are under my protection.'

'Taranisäii,' Skandar said at last. 'I am Skandar Taranisäii.'

Orgetorix frowned. '"Taranisäii"? I know no tribe by that name. Where are you from?'

Skandar hesitated. 'Traeganni,' he said suddenly.

Orgetorix froze. 'What? What do you mean by that?'

'My name,' said Skandar. 'It's Skandar Taranisäii-Traeganni.'

Orgetorix was silent for a long moment, his black eyes glinting. 'You are of the tribe of Traegan?' he said at last.

Skandar couldn't look at him. 'I don't know.'

There was a faint clink as Orgetorix put down the crown. He leaned forward, his expression hardening. 'What are you doing in the North?' he asked, his voice suddenly dangerous. 'How did you come to be here? Where are the others?'

Skandar shrank back. 'I don't understand what you mean. What others?'

'Where are the rest of your tribe?' said Orgetorix. 'Have they returned?'

'I don't have a tribe,' said Skandar. 'I don't understand you. I'm… it's just me, I'm on my own, don't… I haven't…'

Orgetorix withdrew slightly. 'Your parents,' he said. 'Where are your parents?'

'They're dead,' Skandar almost whispered.

'And were there others with you?'

'No. There was just us. I came here on my own.'

'I see,' said Orgetorix. But the hardness was still in his face. He picked up the crown again. 'I do not like what you are telling me,' he said. 'And nor do I trust you. Why have you come here? Where did you get this crown? By what art did you change your shape?'

'It's my crown,' said Skandar. 'My father gave it to me.'

'And who was your father?' said Orgetorix.

'He was-,' Skandar broke off. He did not mean to, but his voice suddenly gave out midsentence and fear rushed through him.

Orgetorix paused and lifted the crown from his own head, placing it on the table beside the other. The two were virtually identical. 'This crown you have brought was made here,' he said. 'It belongs to the ancient houses of the dark elves.'

'It's mine,' said Skandar.

Orgetorix appeared to relax very slightly. 'You do not seem to understand. Do you know what this is?'

'It's a crown,' said Skandar.

Orgetorix shook his head. 'This is the Traitor's Crown.'

Skandar started up. 'My father was not a traitor!' he shouted.

'Be seated,' Orgetorix snapped. 'You are a descendant of Traegan. The traitor's blood runs through your veins, and you carried the Traitor's Crown. If you do not answer my questions, I shall consider you an enemy and you shall be imprisoned until you change your mind. Do not doubt that I mean this, little half-breed.'

Skandar's fists clenched. 'I am not a traitor. I don't know who Traegan is. My father was not a traitor. Give me back my crown.'

Orgetorix paused. 'You mean to tell me that you do not understand?'

'No,' said Skandar. 'I don't know Traegan. I haven't done anything wrong.'

The dark elf sighed. 'Very well. Then I shall explain it to you.' He put his crown back on and placed the other back on the table. 'Traegan the Traitor lived here in Hen Addef long ago. He led a rebellion against King Dumnorix, intending to displace him with the help of several of the great families. He stole the King's crown, hoping that the ownership of it would give him legitimacy in the eyes of our race, but the other noble families remained loyal. They forged a new crown and declared the stolen one illegitimate, and Traegan was foiled and attempted to use force to steal Dumnorix's throne. He failed and fled South, taking his followers with him, and they built ships and sailed away from Tara, never to return.'

Skandar listened. 'I… I have never heard that story before, _Frenin_.'

Orgetorix. 'I believe you. It was plain from your face that you did not recognise it. But if you are of the blood of Traegan, why were you not told?'

'I didn't know I was,' said Skandar.

'Where did you come from?' said Orgetorix. 'You cannot be from Hen Addef, and yet you do not speak as if you were brought up among humans.' He paused. 'Have you come from over the sea?' he asked, suddenly excited. 'Is that where you were born, in a land outside Tara?'

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'I was born in a place called Alagaësia. My… I came here over the sea. Only a few months ago. We were looking for the dark elves, because…' he faltered suddenly. 'Because we thought…'

'Be calm,' said Orgetorix. He scratched his beard. 'By the _tharian lleaud_. So it is true. There are lands beyond Tara. You say this place is called Alagaësia?'

'Yes, _Frenin_.'

'And the descendants of Traegan still live there?'

Skandar shook his head. 'No, _Frenin_. There are no dark elves in Alagaësia any more. They were all killed.'

'But your father survived?'

'Yes.'

Orgetorix looked thoughtful. 'So he brought you back here. Perhaps he hoped to come back to Hen Addef to live.' He looked at Skandar. 'But he died during the journey?'

Skandar nodded silently.

'I am sorry for that,' said Orgetorix. 'It is never easy to lose a parent. What of your mother?'

'She's dead too,' Skandar whispered.

Orgetorix sighed. 'You have my sympathy, Skandar. Truly. If you reached my city on your own, then you have an astonishing strength. Your parents would be proud of you. May I ask you their names?'

Skandar wrapped his hands together, clasping them tightly. 'I d… they were…'

'You do not have to tell me if you are not yet ready to,' said Orgetorix. 'I understand. But your father gave you the Traitor's Crown before he died, did he?'

Skandar nodded. 'And the sword. He said to take care of it.'

'Well.' Orgetorix gently pushed it across the table toward him. 'You may have it back. A father's sword belongs to his son by right.'

Skandar grasped the hilt, the metal cold against his skin, and sighed. Somehow touching it gave him strength, and a feeling of great relief. _Take good care of it, Skandar. It's yours now. _

'You hold it as if it were a part of you,' Orgetorix remarked.

'It's mine,' said Skandar. 'My father told me to take care of it.'

Orgetorix nodded. 'I should not keep you here much longer. But there is one thing I want to know first. How did you change your shape? I know of no magic that can do this. How did you gather the energy such a spell would have taken? Did you weave it yourself, or did another magician do it for you?'

'I did it myself,' said Skandar.

Orgetorix blinked. 'Who taught you that magic?'

'I have no magic,' said Skandar.

'No magic?' said Orgetorix. 'What do you mean?'

'I can't cast spells,' said Skandar.

'Then how did you change your shape?' said Orgetorix.

'I don't know.' Skandar tried to explain. 'I've always been able to do it. I mean… I did it once and then I couldn't do it any more, but then it just happened again.'

Orgetorix looked thoughtful. 'I have heard tales of shape-changers, but I have never heard of one. Have you ever changed your shape into something other than elf or dragon?'

'No,' said Skandar. 'I'm… my father said I was a weredragon.'

'Could he change his shape as well?'

'No.'

'And your mother?'

Skandar shook his head.

'Strange,' said Orgetorix. 'I have heard of werewolves. Legends speak of dark elves who could change themselves into wolf-shape in the heat of battle, though I do not believe it, but I have never heard of a weredragon. May I see your hands?'

Skandar held them out, and the dark elf examined them, gently gripping the claws and manipulating them as if to assure himself that they were real.

'I had been told about these,' he said. 'And your teeth.'

Skandar opened his mouth slightly.

'Weredragon,' Orgetorix muttered. 'I would not believe it if I had not seen it. Well, Skandar-,' he gave him a direct look that gave Skandar another painful jolt of recollection, 'I see no reason to consider you a threat. You have journeyed far, and it is plain that you have suffered. You may stay in my palace until you are fully recovered, and after that a decision can be made toward your future. But what is it that you wish for?'

'I have nowhere to go,' said Skandar. 'I mean, I… I was hoping I could live here.'

Orgetorix nodded. 'I think that, perhaps, we could give you a home here. In the meantime, rest and eat and regain your strength. When the time comes, I shall inform you of my decision.'

'Yes, _Frenin_.' Skandar hesitated. 'Thankyou, _Frenin_.'

Orgetorix smiled with his eyes. 'I am sorry if I frightened you, Skandar. I had been given a great shock, and I could not otherwise than be suspicious. For all I knew you were a forerunner for an invasion, or perhaps a spy.'

'I'm not a-!'

'I do not think you are,' said Orgetorix. 'A spy would have had a less fantastic story prepared, and would be…' the smile showed again. 'Well, would be a little older than yourself. You shall have to forgive me for my paranoia. I have only been King for a few days, you see. We do not have hereditary monarchs any more, not since Traegan's rebellion. Every one hundred years a new ruler is chosen. That is why the dark elves withdrew to this city; so that the heads of the tribes could gather and select a ruler. I was chosen, but I have not yet been formally annointed. In a few days I shall be, but if I make a single poor choice, or lead others to think that perhaps I am not worthy, the decision shall be reversed.'

'I'm sorry-,' Skandar began.

Orgetorix shook his head. 'It is not your fault. Go now. Aera will be waiting outside for you. Take your sword with you.'

Skandar got up, lifting the sword off the table. It was heavy now. 'Thankyou, _Frenin_.'

Orgetorix nodded politely. 'Go in peace, Skandar Taranisäii. But…'

'Yes, _Frenin?_'

'I advise you not to call yourself Traeganni in front of others,' said Orgetorix. 'It would be best. The name of Traegan is not remembered well here. Do not tell them more than you have to; only that you are a dark elf and that I have given you permission to stay here. You will not be bothered. I have placed you under my protection, and anyone who dares to harrass you will be disciplined.'

'Thankyou, _Frenin_.'

'Go now,' said Orgetorix. 'In five days my annointing shall take place. You may attend, and afterward I shall announce my decision.'

'Yes, _Frenin_.'

Skandar said nothing more. He turned and walked slowly out, carrying the sword with him. Part of him wanted to look back at Orgetorix, but he resisted. The dark elf frightened him a little. And, in spite of his reassurances, Skandar was afraid of what would happen in five days. Deep down, he knew that his future hung in the balance.


	14. The King's Moon

**Chapter Fourteen**

**The King's Moon**

Over the next five days Skandar slowly recovered from his ordeal, at least physically. He spent much of his time in his bedroom, sleeping, but his carers – Aera and a pair of other dark elvish healers – saw to it that he left it for at least a few hours every day. He was allowed to explore the palace a little – though always with an attendant – and when he was a little stronger they let him practise swordplay in the target-lined chamber where the guards went for their training. The rest of the time he slept and ate. The amount of food he was allowed to eat was increased until he was eating proper meals, and as he started to put some weight back on he could feel his strength returning.

It was a peaceful time, more or less. He let his weakness dominate his mind as much as possible, concentrating on his physical needs as a way to keep his thoughts occupied. When thoughts of his parents came up he banished them again at once, pushing them out of his mind and making himself think of other things. He let himself be anxious about what was going to happen to him once he was better instead, and in a way that was easier. He did not see King Orgetorix again, and the only people he interacted with were his carers, who saw to his needs and treated him with respect and kindness. When he asked her to, Aera even began teaching him a few words of dark elvish. Soon he was able to introduce himself and to ask for second helpings of things, and could name the nine different phases of the moon.

He rarely did let himself think about what had happened in daylight. At those times he kept his time occupied with learning and exploring and exercise. But it was different at night, when he was alone. It was not that he had nightmares. When he did dream it was only in brief snatches which he did not remember later on. But most nights he would wake up with a terrified jerk, unable to remember where he was, his hands trying to fend off an invisible foe. When that happened he would lie back and recite the nine phases to himself, over and over again, until his heartbeat slowed and he could go back to sleep.

On the evening of the fifth day he was sitting in palace the library, turning the pages of a book – he couldn't read dark elvish runes, but he had discovered some volumes of illustrations – when he saw Aera come in.

'How do you like the pictures?' she asked pleasantly.

'They're beautiful,' said Skandar. He ran his fingers over an intricate picture of a fire-breathing dragon, done in coloured inks and highlighted with gold leaf. 'Are there really dragons here?'

'Not any more,' said Aera. 'No-one truly knows what became of them, but some say they left Tara long ago.' She reached out and gently took hold of the book. 'I am sorry, but you will have to put it back it now. You can look at it again tomorrow.'

Skandar closed it obediently. 'Is it time for dinner?'

'No. The annointment ceremony for King Orgetorix is tonight at moonrise, and you must prepare.'

Skandar put the book down and stood up sharply. 'What do I have to do?'

'Come,' said Aera, offering him her hand.

He didn't take it, but followed her out of the library and back to his room. A metal tub of steaming water had been brought in, and there were a number of jars and bottles lined up on the floor beside it, along with combs and brushes and a bundle of dried herbs.

Skandar stared at them, bewildered. 'What are they for?'

Aera picked one up. 'This is a lotion for your hair. It will make it smooth and glossy and easier to comb. Massage it into your scalp and then rinse it out. The others are for your skin; use whichever one you wish. They will make you clean and sweet-smelling. And these herbs are for the water. Crush them into it and they will produce a cleansing steam. When you are done, dry yourself and dress.' She indicated the bed, where an outfit had been laid out for him.

Skandar nodded and began to unlace his boots. 'Do I have to be fast?'

'There is plenty of time. We will not be eating until after the ceremony, when there will be a feast.' She paused. 'Do you need me to help you?'

Skandar shook his head. 'No. I can do it.'

'As you wish. Call for me when you are ready.' The dark elf nodded pleasantly and left.

Once the door had closed behind her, Skandar stripped off his robe and trousers and climbed gingerly into the water. The heat of it made him gasp, but he had bathed before and it didn't alarm him. He wet his hair and then applied a liberal amount of the lotion intended for it; it made it feel greasy and lank, but he rubbed it in as well as he could and then washed it out. Once that was done he tried the other lotions, choosing them arbitarily; all of them had a powerful herbal scent that made him think of medicine, but he could feel them removing the ingrained dirt from his skin, leaving it smooth and clean.

He was determined to look as neat as possible for the ceremony, wanting to make as good an impression as he could, and once he had climbed out and dried himself as thoroughly as he could manage he wrapped himself in the towel and sat down to comb his hair, patiently teasing out the tangles and ordering and reordering it until it was dry and hung in glossy, perfect curls around his ears and down over his shoulders. It had grown very long during the journey, but he didn't care. He liked it long, and he liked it neat, too. His father had always taught him to-

Skandar slammed his mind shut against that thought and began to clean his claws with the sharp metal tool provided, digging out dirt from the hollow undersides with a little more force than necessary and then filing down the points. He had to blunt them by hand – if he didn't, he ran the risk of hurting anyone he touched. When he was done he got up and put on the clothes they had laid out for him; they were a robe and a pair of trousers, as always, but these were much finer and more elaborate than the sort he had worn before, and they were pure white rather than black, like the one he had worn before, the one his father had cut down to fit him-

Skandar clenched his fists, digging his claws into his palms until the pain had distracted him. Then he picked up the trousers and put them on, followed by the robe. They were made of fine material – lambswool, as someone told him later on – and the cuffs and the collar were decorated with embroidered silver patterns. The fastenings on the front, too, were silver, made into the shapes of interlocking spirals. It took him a few moments to figure out how to snap them together, but once he had he marvelled at the cunning way they had been designed to fit together; their shapes completing each other.

With the robe went a pair of soft leather boots, and a small cloth pouch which, when opened, turned out to contain a handful of bone and silver beads and a tiny pot of some kind of dark blue paste. He sniffed carefully at it; it smelled greasy, like some kind of animal fat, but he doubted it was edible. He shrugged and put it back into the pouch.

Once he had put on the boots and combed his hair once last time, he went to the door and opened it. There was no-one outside, but once he had called Aera's name a few times she came.

'You look like a prince,' she told him, smiling.

The inner coldness stirred a little at her words, and Skandar took in a deep breath. 'I didn't know what to do with this,' he said, showing her the pouch.

Aera took it. 'Ah yes. I can help you with this.'

'What are they for?' said Skandar.

'The beads are to decorate your hair,' said Aera. 'Sit down and I can put them in for you.'

Skandar obeyed, sitting down on the chair while she stood behind him. She opened the pouch and gave it to him, saying; 'Here, hold onto this. Pass me the beads when I ask for them.'

'All right.' Skandar hesitated. 'Please be careful. I combed my hair a hundred times to make it look nice.'

Aera chuckled. 'As you wish.'

Skandar sat a little nervously while she fiddled with his hair; he couldn't tell what she was doing – all he could feel was the occasional light tug on his scalp. After a few moments she asked for another bead, and he selected one at random and passed it to her. The pouch slowly emptied over the next few minutes, and once the beads were all gone Aera said; 'There. Finished.'

Skandar could feel the weight of the beads hanging from his hair. 'Can I get up now?'

'Yes. Would you like a mirror?'

Skandar accepted the one she passed to him, and examined himself. He was still getting used to the novelty of mirrors; before he had only ever seen himself reflected dimly on the surface of water and a few times on White Violence's silver hilt. But the polished surface of the mirror showed him a perfect, clear picture of his own face. It looked pale and thin, with a slightly pointed nose and chin, and though his hair – now decorated with dozens of cunningly-threaded beads – was silver he had black eyebrows. His sharp teeth showed slightly through his lips, the canines protruding. His eyes looked a little big for his face, but they were black and glittering, like those of a dark elf. They had frightened him the first time he saw them, not because they looked so impassive or because it was difficult to tell which way they were looking, but because they were so familiar. _You are my son,_ his memory whispered, _and if you ever doubt that, just look in a mirror…_

Skandar thrust the mirror at Aera. 'I'm finished with it.'

She looked slightly puzzled, but took it back without comment. 'We are almost finished now. Can I have the pouch, please?'

Skandar gave it to her and slumped back into the chair while she opened it and took out the jar of paste. There was also a small wooden stick, its tip smooth and rounded.

Aera opened the jar. 'Now,' she said. 'I must use this to decorate your face. But you must tell me which symbol to use.'

Skandar stared at her. 'What symbol?'

'The symbol of your tribe,' Aera explained. 'I will show you.' She put the jar down on the table and dipped the stick into it. Then, using the mirror, she carefully painted something on her forehead. It looked a little like a flower, its three petals interlaced into one continuous line. 'There,' she said, bowing her head to show it to him. 'That is the symbol of my tribe. Your own must go on your forehead, and other symbols may go on your cheeks to signify what you choose – your age, your wealth, whether you are mated or not… I know the symbols for those. But you must tell me what to put upon your forehead.'

'I have no symbol,' said Skandar.

Aera looked uncertain. 'But surely your father must have shown it to you. Did he not teach you?'

Skandar shook his head silently.

'But what was carved on his possessions?' said Aera. 'What symbol did he use to seal documents? Do you have no memory of it at all?'

Skandar hesitated. 'What would it look like?'

'I cannot say,' said Aera. 'A scrolling shape, or a triskele, or an arrangement of spirals… you have seen many different carvings and decorations here – it would look something like those.'

Skandar sat still for a few moments, lost in thought, and then got up and ran to the bed. White Violence was hidden under the pillow, where he had taken to keeping it, and he pulled the blade free and examined it closely. Sure enough, there was the triple spiral carved just below the hilt.

He held it out for Aera to look. 'It's this,' he said. 'That there. That's the symbol.'

She examined it closely, silent and unmoving for some time. Then she looked up. 'I do not think you should have that symbol, Skandar.'

'But it's _mine,' _Skandar insisted. 'It was my… my father's. He told me it was his. He had it…' he paused, closing his eyes briefly. 'It was on his shoulder. A tattoo. And on a ring on his finger. And his sword, this was his sword.'

'You are sure?'

Skandar nodded, strangely angry with her. 'It's my symbol now.'

Aera paused, and then sighed. 'Very well. Put the sword down and I will paint the symbol on you.'

Skandar obeyed, holding his hair away from his face while she delicately ran the stick's rounded end over the skin on his forehead, pausing occasionally to dip it in the paste again. When she was done she said; 'There. But do not touch it, or it will smear.' She put the stick into the jar again. 'Now, what symbols should I paint onto your cheeks?'

'I don't know,' said Skandar.

'There are many things to choose,' said Aera. 'But what you choose is important. Others will remember it for a long time. Some elves have made lifelong enemies by choosing poorly, or choosing symbols intended to provoke.' She paused. 'You will soon be among hundreds of people. They will be curious about you and will want to know who you are. What do you want to tell them, Skandar? What do you want them to know? What would be the first thing you would say if you spoke to them?'

Skandar sat quietly, deep in thought. What _did_ he want them to think of him? Did he want them to be impressed, or sympathetic? And… his stomach started to churn. He did not know what he wanted them to know. He did not know what he would have to tell them, or what he could bring himself to tell them. Everything he thought of was something he did not want to talk about. He did not want to tell them he was a weredragon, or a half-breed, or that he was from a different land. He did not want to tell them about his upbringing, or the journey that had made up most of his life. He did not want them to know what he had done.

'I don't want to tell them anything,' he said at last.

'Nothing at all?' Aera said gently. 'Are you certain? There truly is nothing you have to say?'

'I have nothing,' Skandar whispered.

The dark elf obviously sensed his distress. She put the lid back on the jar and put it down on the table along with the stick. 'Very well. Then we will leave your cheeks empty. Do you want a moment to rest, or are you ready to come now?'

Skandar got up. 'I want to go now. Is it far?'

'Not too far. Come.'

Skandar paused to hide the sword again and then followed Aera out of the room.

At first they were in the familiar territory of the palace's living quarters, but they quickly left that behind and passed out into the rest of the building. He recognised some of the corridors they first took, and eventually realised that they were heading toward the room where he had met Orgetorix days ago. But they soon turned in a different direction, and now he was following his guide up a flight of stairs, around a corner and into a passage that curved away from them in both directions, forming a ring around what looked like a tower, but one built into the palace itself. It was easy enough to tell where to go from here; there were dozens of dark elves already there, entering the tower via the doorways spaced along it at regular intervals. He and Aera had to push their way past some of them to get in. The doorway they used led to a spiral staircase, which a long line of elves was already climbing.

'The Temple of the Moon is at the top,' Aera told him as they began their descent.

The climb – thanks only partly to the crowd – took a long time. After a while Skandar's legs started to ache, and though he made no complaint he slowed down a little, looking up to try and see the top. He couldn't. All he could see was more steps, and more and more of them. He sighed and walked on.

After what felt like half an hour they finally reached the top, where there was an arched doorway. Skandar stepped through it, and into…

He stumbled a little as he followed Aera, unable to believe what he was seeing.

The Temple of the Moon was huge. Even crowded with at least two hundred dark elves, it looked big enough to fit a castle into. Carved from the living rock of the mountain like the rest of the palace, its ceiling – rising up and up to the very tip of the peak – was domed, but had a circular hole cut into it, leaving it open to the sky. Massive pillars, carved to resemble trees, supported the ceiling and lined the walls like a petrified forest. Branches, made from silver, supported lanterns of dark blue glass, and the floor was inlaid with an elaborate mosaic of leaves, stars, plants and animals that chased each other, their bodies stretched into elegant, stylised shapes. Long chains hung from the roof, each one ending in a beautifully wrought star made from silver or gold. No two were alike.

There were no chairs or benches in the temple; the assembled dark elves had to stand, filling the space with the gentle murmuring of their voices. There was no pushing or jostling; everyone seemed to know just where they should stand. They politely stood aside to let Skandar through as Aera took him forward, toward the centre of the Temple. He could see their pale faces turning toward him as he passed, their hair decorated with beads and feathers, their faces painted with symbols in blue and black. Many of the men wore short, pointed beards. It made the coldness in Skandar's chest harden and become painful when he saw that, but he did his best not to look. It was rude to stare at a dark elf.

When he reached the front of the crowd he could see the centre of the Temple. There was an altar there; very long and shaped like a crescent moon. He passed quite close to it on his way past; close enough to see the seven silver-lined depressions set into its top, mimicking the changing shapes of the moon, with the full moon at the centre and the shrinking crescrent moving out to the edges. There was no-one standing by the altar – the crowd was keeping well back, leaving a ring of empty space around it.

Aera took him to a spot on the far side of it, to the front row of the crowd. There was a small group of people there, evidently gathered together on purpose, and Skandar blinked in surprise when he saw them. They were children; the first dark elvish children he had seen. Most of them looked to be about his own age, but there were older ones too, and a handful of infants just old enough to walk, and two of the older children were cradling babies in their arms. All of them wore black robes and had blue symbols painted on their faces.

Skandar paused, watching them uncertainly. All of them were looking back.

Aera touched him gently on the shoulder. 'I must leave you here and go and take my place,' she said. 'You must stand here with the other children. Be still and silent, and watch the ceremony. Do not interrupt or behave disrespectfully, or you will be in trouble.'

Skandar started to feel slightly panicky. 'Is there anything I have to do?'

'No. Imitate the people around you, but you do not have to say anything. You are here merely as a witness, as we all are.'

'What do I do afterward?'

'Wait here, and I will come and find you,' said Aera. 'You will be fine, I promise.' She patted him gently to reassure him and then left, weaving her way back into the crowd and vanishing.

Skandar looked at the children again, wondering how he was supposed to join them. They were watching him with open curiosity, and after a few moments one boy came forward.

'_Gwna 'ch mo adnabod ble at saf?'_

It sounded like a question. 'I don't understand,' said Skandar.

The boy peered at him. '_Fel alli mo adnabod 'ch addef dafodiaith?_'

Skandar hesitated. '_Gwna mo… areithia… dywyllwch choblyn_,' he said, forming the words as carefully as he could.

The boy started, and then laughed. '_Fel 'n anadnabyddus ach!_'

One of the other children had come over to watch. 'You do not understand?' she asked Skandar, speaking human slowly and a little crudely – probably as he himself spoke dark elvish.

Skandar shook his head, feeling oddly relieved.

'What is your name?' the girl asked.

'Skandar.'

She was watching him with interest. 'I am called Eurwen.'

The boy who had spoken earlier suddenly intruded. '_Caiff 'r arwyddlun chan brenin acha eiddo dalcen!_' he exclaimed, pointing at Skandar.

Eurwen looked at Skandar, then at the boy, and the two of them had a brief animated discussion in dark elvish.

Skandar watched, half-afraid, but then Eurwen turned to him and said; 'Come. Stand with me.'

Relieved, he followed her into the little knot of children and stood beside her when she bade him to. She gave him a slightly anxious look, but then turned to look at the altar again. The boy had also returned to his place, and the children stood together in silence. Waiting.

Skandar realised that a silence had fallen over the Temple. The crowd had ceased its chatter, and an air of expectancy had come over them all. He straightened up a little, looking over the heads of the children in front of him in the hopes of seeing what was going on. There was no-one by the altar. But, as he watched, the crowd directly behind it – facing its curved inside – silently parted to let a procession through. Thirteen elves, each one clad in silver, came through the gap and entered the ring of clear space around the altar, forming themselves into a semicircle in front of it. The one at the back, however, went straight to the altar itself and carefully laid a bundle of cloth down on it, along with several objects Skandar couldn't quite see. Once this was done, she turned to look back at the way she had come, where the gap in the crowd still remained.

As Orgetorix emerged, every dark elf in the Temple raised his or her hands and began a low chant. Skandar, panicking, raised his own hands, but could not join in with the chant. He hoped no-one would notice.

Orgetorix walked slowly, and with grace, though he looked a little pale. His face, too, was painted with blue symbols. He reached the altar and knelt in front of the priestess, who made a gesture over him as if she were blessing him. He spoke in dark elvish, and she replied. Then she took him by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet. She intoned a string of words and then stood aside.

Orgetorix held a hand out toward the floor and spoke again, and with a little start Skandar realised that he knew those words. He had heard them, hundreds of times…

Black energy began to glow on the floor behind the altar, and then a fire sprang up, burning on nothing. It was pure black, with a heart of silver, and Skandar felt a rush of emotion when he saw it. Black fire, dark elvish fire…

Orgetorix stood by the fire, his head bowed. Then he raised it again and began to undo his robe. He pulled it off and threw it into the fire, where it burned. Then he took off his trousers and threw them in as well. He was barefoot, and wore nothing else underneath. He continued to speak, reciting some liturgy in his own language, and then banished the black fire and stepped forward to the altar, dipping his hands into the indentation representing the full moon. They came out wet, and he rubbed his face, washing away the symbols from his face. When he had done he walked around the altar, naked and vulnerable, and stood before the crowd with the priests behind him. Then he knelt, bowing his head to the assembled dark elves, and intoned a question.

There was silence. Then the dark elves, as one, let out a great shout. _'DE! DE! DE!'_

Orgetorix stood, speaking again, and the priestess who had greeted him came to him now, carrying a new robe which she draped around his shoulders. He made no effort to cover himself up, but silently walked with her to the altar and stood in front of it. The two priests closest to him now came forward, closing in on him from either side. For some reason, Skandar felt a little stab of apprehension when he saw them.

Orgetorix made no move. He stood absolutely still, chanting something in a low voice. One priest opened a small leather pouch and brought out a long, thin piece of bone, one that tapered to a wicked point. The other opened a crystal jar containing some kind of blue liquid, and held it out so that the first one could dip the bone into it. He pulled it out, dripping, then lifted it to Orgetorix's face and drove it into his forehead.

Skandar gasped, unable to stop himself. But no-one else reacted.

Nor did Orgetorix. His expression tightened slightly as the needle went in, but he made no move – only closed his eyes and stood there, passive, as the priest dipped the needle into the ink once again and then stabbed it into his skin, again and again.

Skandar watched, horror-struck. What were they doing? Why were they hurting him?

No-one made a move to stop it. The needle went in and out, slowly inscribing a line of marks over the skin until Orgetorix's forehead was covered in blood and ink. And still he did not flinch.

When the priest had finally finished, he and his colleague moved away, tucking their instruments of torture away inside their silver robes. Then the high priestess came forward once more, holding the crown in both hands, and silently placed it on Orgetorix's head.

'_Arenadd Llewellyni, ewyllysia darfod heddiw_,' she cried. '_Awron ach Brenin Orgetorix!_'

'_Brenin Orgetorix!_' the crowd roared back. '_Brenin Orgetorix!_'

Orgetorix finally opened his eyes and looked up at them all. '_Dwi 'ch brenin a Llywia 'ch awron!_' he shouted.

The reaction was instantaneous. Every dark elf in the Temple knelt, including the priests. Skandar stood there for an instant, taken by surprise, but he quickly recovered and fell to his knees, bowing his head.

Only Orgetorix remained standing. He looked on his new subjects, his expression calm, and then shouted something else that sounded like a command. The dark elves rose, and then Orgetorix turned and walked silently out of the Temple, followed by the priests. As if that were a signal, the crowd also began to disperse. They filed out of the Temple via the doors spaced around the single round wall that enclosed it, none speaking.

Skandar's knees hurt from hitting the floor. He rubbed them nervously, not knowing what to do. The children around him were also leaving, walking off to join their parents, though several of them stayed where they were, looking at Skandar in a cautious, indirect kind of way, as if they didn't want him to realise they were looking.

Eurwen had stayed too. 'You are the dragon-child, aren't you?' she asked rather shyly. 'I have heard of you.'

Skandar said nothing.

Several adults had come over to claim their offspring, and most of the other children were soon leaving. Eurwen glanced at them, but made no move to leave with them. 'Have you no parents?' she asked sympathetically.

Skandar shook his head.

She sighed. 'I am sad for you. But you are lucky, Skandar. You will not have to work to live now.'

Skandar remained silent. He desperately wanted to say something, but his mind was a blank.

Eurwen glanced up – an elvish woman was approaching. 'I must go now,' she said quickly, 'But I hope we may meet again, Skandar.' This said, she touched him briefly on the shoulder and left. Her mother cast a brief glance at Skandar but said nothing, and the two of them vanished into the crowd.

Skandar stayed where he was, watching the spot where they had been. He couldn't see Aera anywhere. People were looking at him as they passed, and it made him feel afraid. He kept imagining that he could see accusation in their faces. As if they _knew._

The last of the dark elves left, and Skandar found himself alone. No-one had come for him, and now they were all gone silence poured into the space were they had been.

It was the first time he had truly felt alone since he had come to the city.

Not knowing what to do, he walked toward the altar and examined it more closely. The fire had left no visible mark on the floor where it had been. Not that that meant it had not left one at all, but there was already a large patch of blackened stone on the spot where it had burned. Skandar bent and touched it. His fingers came away with a coating of black dust – the remains of the cloth that had been burnt there. There were a few wisps of thread left scattered here and there, moving very slightly in the breeze.

Skandar stood and looked straight upward. During the ceremony the moon had risen, and now he could see it shining in through the hole in the roof. It was a perfect crescent, a _tharian lleaud_, casting its pale glow onto the altar and onto Skandar's upturned face.

Skandar looked down at the altar. The dishes set into it were all full of water; there was a scatter of drops around the centremost one, the one in the shape of the full moon, from where Orgetorix had scooped out some of the contents.

Skandar dipped his fingers into the water, and saw it darken slightly as the dirt floated away from his skin. He withdrew, feeling slightly ashamed. But, as the surface of the water became still once more, he saw how the moon was perfectly reflected on it and leaned over to look more closely. It was bizarre, as if the moon had somehow been taken out of the sky and put into the water, floating there like a leaf. As he leaned over, though, a shadow moved in front of it. His own reflection, he realised. He could only see the outline; the shape of his curly hair silhouetted against the moon. But the memory of a pair of black eyes flitted across his mind and he pulled away.

As he tried to straighten up, however, something strange happened. He felt a sudden cold, sick lurch in his stomach, and all the strength went out of him. He slumped over the altar, covering his face with his hands, and began to sob.


	15. Promise

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Promise**

Skandar did not stop crying for a long time. But it was something that gave him no relief. The more he cried, the worse he felt. He could feel the tears on his face and hands, and somehow they made him feel defiled. And he felt angry as well, with a kind of deep, sick, burning feeling, as if, even though he was out of his dragon's form now, there was fire in his belly.

He hated himself. As the tears began to die down he dragged his claws over his face, wanting and yet not wanting it to hurt. He wanted to change into a dragon again, to escape from this shape, this form, this face that made him think of a time, so recent and yet so long ago, when his parents were alive and when he had sat by the fire and listened to his father's stories and felt proud and safe and happy. In his head, the vision rose up to torment him again, no longer contained but real and present and smothering. His father, red-eyed and hateful, strangling his mother to death. His father, snarling and sneering, coming to kill him. His father, dying. His father…

_You are my son, Skandar. You are my son…_

'I don't want it,' Skandar whispered. 'I don't want to be. I don't want you in me. I don't want…'

He did not want to remember. He did not want the memory of the bloody dagger in his hands, or those black eyes that did not look as if they were his, that stared straight at him out of the water, as if they could see, as if they _knew. _He did not want to look at himself and see his father.

'I wish I was dead,' he whispered again. 'I wish…'

'Skandar?'

Skandar half-turned, and screamed.

Orgetorix, standing just behind him, held up his hands. 'It's all right! It's all right! Calm down!'

Skandar turned away. 'Leave me alone,' he mumbled, trying to rub the tears away from his face. 'Please, I want to be alone.'

'I am sorry if I startled you,' said Orgetorix. 'I did not mean to. I was looking for you. Are you all right?'

Skandar stared at the ground. 'I'm fine.'

Orgetorix regarded him. 'I am sorry if I interrupted you at your prayers,' he said. 'But I needed to speak with you.' His gaze moved to Skandar's forehead, and he sighed. 'Well. It would seem that I underestimated you, little half-breed. And I suppose I should be angry, but I cannot help but admire your actions.'

Skandar looked up. He looked automatically at Orgetorix's own forehead, and froze.

The blood and ink had been cleaned away from the skin. Beneath them, standing out clear and strong against the King's pale complexion, was the unmistakeable shape of a triple-spiral.

Orgetorix nodded. 'The ceremony is complete. I am now King of Hen Addef, and master of my race. This tattoo will mark me out as a monarch for the rest of my life.'

'But-,' Skandar began.

'Therefore,' Orgetorix went on, 'I must say I was somewhat surprised when someone approached me after the ceremony and asked me why the "dragon-child" had come into the Temple bearing the royal symbol. My beloved was somewhat hurt when she found out, and asked me why I had not told her that I had formally adopted you as a member of my family.'

Skandar stared at him. 'I don't-,'

'Don't pretend you don't understand,' said Orgetorix, waving him into silence. 'And there is no need to be afraid. I only want to know one thing… was it your idea?'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Skandar. 'What idea?'

'You came wearing the royal symbol,' said Orgetorix. 'Every noble in the Temple saw you. It was a clear message to all of them. Now everyone around me believes that I adopted you, in secret, and that you and I chose to reveal it tonight, when it would be too late for any protest.' The hint of a smile showed in his black eyes. '"Orgetorix" means "cunning King", but I think it is you who are blessed with the most cunning here.'

'I didn't mean-,'

'I already told you; there is nothing to fear,' said Orgetorix. He threw up his hands. 'I have no choice. You have beaten me. I cannot tell anyone that it was your doing alone; it would make me look weak and foolish in the eyes of my subjects. So I have decided that I will give you what you want, in return for your silence.'

'I won't tell anyone,' said Skandar, though he wasn't entirely sure just what it was he wasn't supposed to be telling them.

'Good. And see you keep it that way. I shall confide in my immediate family, but they will have no choice but to accept it. You are one of us now, and as far as the people are concerned it will have been the first demonstration of my intelligence and not a result of my having been outwitted by a child.'

'You mean I can live here?' said Skandar.

'Yes. You are now a member of the Llewellyni tribe, under my guardianship. You shall have quarters in the palace, and an allowance from the royal treasury until you reach manhood. I shall see to it that you are educated with the other noble children and that you have training in magic and swordplay and other important arts, and are initiated into the Temple.' Orgetorix spoke in formal, distant tones, showing just a hint of exasperation, and Skandar could hardly believe what he was hearing. 'Tomorrow your adoption shall be formally announced, but from this day on you are Skandar Llewellyni. However…' the King's black eyes glinted, 'However, I advise you not to try this kind of underhanded manoeuvring again. You may be a member of my family now, but that does not mean I will allow you to do whatever you please, and you still will not have my complete trust until I know more of your story and am satisfied that you have told the truth.'

Skandar nodded mutely.

'I am tired,' Orgetorix went on, 'And I have many things to see to tonight, and tomorrow. So I will only ask you one question now. Who was your father?'

'He's dead,' Skandar whispered.

'That is not what I asked you,' said Orgetorix, fixing him with a direct, commanding stare. 'I want to know who he was. What was his name? His tribe? Why had he chosen to leave this other country… this "Alagaësia"? How did he die?'

Instantly the fear rose up in Skandar's chest. He tried to speak but failed, and shook his head mutely.

'You still do not want to speak of him,' said Orgetorix.

Skandar turned away, not wanting the elf to see his face. 'I have no father.'

'But the sword was his,' said Orgetorix. 'And the crown. The sword bears the triple-spiral… the royal symbol. If he used it as his own, then he must have been of royal blood. If he was a descendant of the line of Traegan…'

'I have no father,' Skandar said again.

'Don't be foolish,' said Orgetorix. 'Every living creature has a father. Your father will always be so, whether he is dead or alive. You cannot pretend that he did not exist.'

Silence.

'But if you are not yet ready to speak of him, or of yourself, so be it,' Orgetorix said eventually. 'I will ask you again in due time. In the meantime, if there is nothing else you have to tell me now, I shall leave you in peace.'

'Where's my crown?' Skandar asked suddenly, turning around again. 'I want it back. What did you do with it?'

'The Traitor's Crown has been put away safely in the treasury,' said Orgetorix. 'And it will remain there. It would not be good if others saw it.'

'It's mine,' said Skandar. 'I want it back.'

'I am sorry, but you cannot have it back,' said Orgetorix. 'It is a symbol of betrayal and deception, and it has already caused trouble and grief to our race. I cannot allow you to have it.'

'It's mine!' Skandar shouted. 'You can't steal it from me!'

'I am your King,' Orgetorix said coldly, 'And you will not speak to me like that.'

The sound ripped itself out of Skandar's throat and made the entire Temple echo with it. He never quite knew how it happened; he had not willed it to, but it simply came – the deep, savage sound of a dragon's roar. Orgetorix jerked backward in fright.

As the echo of it died away, Skandar stood frozen, half-afraid, not knowing how he had done it. Pain started to move up along his spine. His wings wanted to grow. He stood there for a split second, his skin twitching, and then turned and ran.

Orgetorix did not follow him. He left the Temple and stumbled down the stairs, trying desperately to control the power rushing through his body, trying to make it change. But it continued to come, unbearable and overwhelming, and he finally staggered into an empty room and collapsed in a corner, convulsing, his sharp teeth gritted together so hard they hurt as little growls and snarls escaped from his throat.

For a few horrible moments, it seemed he was going to lose the struggle. He could feel his bones starting to twist inside him, and the scales trying to grow through his skin. But as he fought back all the harder these sensations began to die away. The pain too left him and he slumped gently, his ears full of the sound of his own ragged breathing.

After a time he felt able to relax again, and curled up on his side, breathing deeply.

The memory of Orgetorix's intent, searching look came back, along with the questions he had asked. He remembered, too, the shocked expression on his face after he, Skandar, had roared at him. He knew he would be in trouble for it later. The King would ask more questions, and so would other people. They would all want to know things about him, and about his parents.

'Never,' he breathed. 'Never. I have no father. I'll never tell them. I'll never tell. I have no father…'

She was dying. She knew it not as despair, but as a simple fact.

Time had passed. She did not know how much time. It had all ceased to mean anything, become something she could not perceive or understand any longer. And she had travelled, but she didn't know where to or where from. It felt as if she had come a long way but was still in the place where she had always been, where there was nothing but rock and snow and icy wind, and pain. So much pain. Pain in her body, pain in her mind, but most of all it was pain in her heart.

There was a gaping void inside her in the place where her heart had been, in a place where something that had belonged there had been torn away. She did not know what it was or why it was gone, but the hole filled her world, filled her being. She felt as if she were falling into it, down and down, the wind tearing at her, always falling but never striking the ground. Was she asleep, or awake? Was this a dream? She did not know. She did not care. Nor did she care that she was dying. She was no longer aware of the need or the desire to live, or to fight for survival. All she knew now were the dreams she had, and the visions, leading her on.

The white dragon flew low over the landscape, her wings beating haphazardly, legs trailing. Her head drooped with exhaustion, and her once-muscular flanks had shrunk, becoming thin and wasted, the bones visible through the loose skin and lustreless scales. She had not eaten in months, and her insides burned with the hunger that was killing her.

The land was changing. She saw it, vaguely. Perhaps she would be there soon, there at the place where he would be waiting for her. He was calling to her now. She could hear him, his voice whispering in her head, pleading with her to come. _Come to me. Please, come. I need you. I need you…_

'_I'm coming,'_ she whispered back. _'I'm coming, soon, soon, soon…'_

And she flew. On and on, neither slowed nor discouraged by her hunger and weakness. She slept wherever she landed; painful, dreamless sleep. Sometimes she would wake and find herself saying a word, over and over again. A name. A name she should have known. But she did not know it, not any more. She had forgotten. And still the voice called.

She could see it now. Ahead, the white landscape merged into high, rocky cliffs. Beyond that, there was nothing but endless flatness. But it was dark flatness rather than light.

She landed at the very edge, stumbling sideways and nearly collapsing, her claws breaking and splitting on the rock before she hit the ground with a thump that sent pain into her very bones. After that she slept, or fainted, scarcely moving before consciousness slipped away from her.

'Galbatorix…'

Her own voice woke her up. She lifted her head with an effort, and felt a cool breeze blowing on her face. With a mighty effort, she dragged herself to her paws and stared at her new surroundings. She was on a great grey cliff, and behind her was the landscape she had flown over to get here. Ahead was…

Water. Endless dark water, stretching out toward the horizon.

She stared blankly at it. The sea. Had she found the sea?

Something compelled her to move forward, to the very edge of the cliff. There, her foreclaws jutting over the edge, she looked down. The cliff's jagged face dropped straight down into the sea, hundreds of feet below. When she saw it, she felt the first true fear she had felt in a very long time. Her vision seemed to pitch forward and then topple straight from the edge, down and down, toward the hungry teeth of the rocks below, and then-

'_NO!'_

The roar echoed in her head and she staggered backward and fell, thrashing and convulsing as memory poured back into her mind and she knew, knew what had happened, knew where he had gone and why, knew he was gone.

Laela lay on her side, one wing twitching, her whole body shaking. 'No,' she moaned, again and again. 'Oh gods no. Galbatorix. Galbatorix…'

He was dead. She knew he was dead. She had felt his agony as he died, felt his soul tear itself out of hers and disappear into the void of death. He was gone and she had failed to save him, and now she was alone, suffering the pain of his loss just as he had once suffered for hers. He was gone.

With a sudden burst of strength, she got to her feet and crawled slowly to the edge of the cliff. She looked down at the rocks again, and then out at the heaving blackness of the sea.

Her claws dug into the stone. Nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. All she had to do was let herself drop.

'I'm coming,' she whispered, and tensed to throw herself from the edge.

_No, Laela…_

Laela froze, her head lifting. _'Galbatorix? Galbatorix, is that you?'_

Silence. But then she heard a strange, distant sighing coming from somewhere in the depths of her mind, and the voice spoke again, only just audible. _Yes…_

'_You're alive!'_

_No…_

'_Where are you?'_

_In you…_

She stared out at the empty sky, but it was difficult to see. There was a strange mist gathering in front of her eyes, as if she were going blind. Somewhere in its depths she thought she could see something… just the vaguest hint of an outline.

'_Galbatorix! Please, come back! Come back-!'_

_Laela,_ the voice whispered. _It should have been me._

'_Galbatorix!'_

_It should have been me,_ the voice said again. _It should have been me that day. Laela, please don't die. Please, you have to live._

Tears ran down over the scales on her face as she searched the fog, trying to find him there amid the whiteness. _'I want to be with you forever.'_

_Laela…_

The sigh came again, and she saw a vision, in the fog; saw the tall, thin shape appear in the darkness beyond, its black eyes watching her.

_Laela,_ it whispered again. _My son. My son is lost. He needs help. He needs someone to save him. Please, Laela, find him for me. Keep him safe. Laela…_

Laela raised herself as high as she could, trying desperately to reach the wavering image that hung in front of her, but she could not.

'_Don't leave me!'_

_I can't. I could never leave you, Laela. Just as you never left me. Please, promise me you'll look after Skandar. Don't let him die. Don't let him become me._

'_I won't,'_ said Laela. _'I'll find him, I promise, I'll find him, Galbatorix…'_

_Thankyou…_

The vision opened up with that last whisper, and she saw him standing among tall pine trees, snowflakes falling all about, and he smiled gently at her before he turned and walked silently away, his long hair caught and tugged by the wind, before the shadows among the trees swallowed him up and he was gone forever, lost amid the snow.


End file.
